Halfmoon
by Irradiate
Summary: Following the defeat of the White Legs in Zion, Joshua Graham once again requires the aid of The Courier as Legionaries pose a new threat to him and his tribe. Possible romance. [M!Courier.] [ In progress.]
1. Prologue

After the final battle with Zion's White Legs, which would lead to their defeat and the death of their savage leader, Joshua Graham would remain in the canyon with his tribe, the Dead Horses, alongside their Sorrow neighbors.

The lone surviving Happy Trails assistant, a courier, who had helped them in winning their war left the canyon after all was said and done. Not permanently, of course; he kept close affiliations with Joshua and the Zion tribes after his departure. He would even return on occasion, though this would become something of great scarcity as months passed. With the canyon now restored to its rightful neutrality, the courier absent more often than not, and the White Legs no longer a concern, Joshua had the opportunity to set his priorities onto other matters.

Such as the Legionary couriers Dead Horse scouts would report traveling Zion's beaten roads time and time again. The Dead Horses would never attack the Legionaries, despite knowledge of their chief's resentment for them, as these Legionaries would pass through as quickly and silently as they came. No aggression. No crucifixion. No preaching. Not a word spoken, in fact. The passing couriers always seemed to be more intent on their job at hand than the Caesar-less tribals taking up residence within the canyon. …A rare occurrence for the imperialistic Legion.

In the most recent months, the sightings of these couriers became subtly more common. Just enough so to raise Joshua's suspicion regarding these Legion men's true reason for navigating Zion.

The Legion had very few camps and even less _people of interest_ on the opposing treks of land beyond Zion. For what reason were they sending such a significant amount of their men through this particular path? Taking all things into consideration, Joshua evidently became concerned these couriers may be within the handful of Caesar's personal spies, sent to collect reports of Joshua's whereabouts; perhaps so that Caesar could get himself an upper hand in his pursuit to have Joshua assassinated. A long time goal the tyrant _still_ had yet to accomplish.

And we all know how much Caesar loves failure, don't we? Per example, _Legate_ Joshua Graham's "service discharge".

In all of Caesar's years of trying and failing to kill the infamous Burned Man, this would be his most creative, devious attempt yet. Sending non-hostile men through the canyon, posing as harmless couriers, and giving them no direct evidence to reveal their identity as Frumentarii. He knew Joshua could not kill who he had no rightful reason to. Was it that Caesar was finally using that knowledge to his advantage?

Perhaps, if these couriers could not be killed, they could be _caught._ The trek from Zion back to The Fort was a long, dangerous one; one which often undertook delays due to the Mojave's fearsome environment. That in mind, it is also true the vast majority of travelers coming through Zion would pass their expected date to return. Assuming they did make it home. Unfortunately, the option of killing a courier and posing death by _natural causes_ was off the table for Graham. Caesar trained his men better, they _both_ knew that. He would detect tribal interference the moment word of his dead courier passed. Joshua could, however, take advantage of a delay in the live courier's arrival; stage the Legionary returning to camp a week later than intended due to "violent dust storms" throughout the canyon.

Accomplishing such a goal as discretely capturing a Legionary was something Joshua and his unfortunately ignorant tribe could not do alone. Especially in the case these couriers proved to truly be Frumentarii, which were indisputably some of the most deadly men under Caesar's reign.

Joshua would require the aid of a… _off-kilter_ friend. Someone he knew would offer the right assistance, as well as trust. Perhaps not quite as much of a stable trust as Joshua would like, but, nevertheless, there were very few other than him he trusted more.

_The_ Courier.


	2. Chapter 1

_Hello, all! I'm fairly new to this website, so try to forgive any beginners' mistakes throughout. Anyway, I'm hoping to bring this story to around 20+ chapters, and I promise it'll get more interesting as we progress. _

_Thanks for reading, &amp; I hope I get some people to stay along for the ride!_

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"You still fucking make people abide by that seventy-five-pounds-or-less bullshit?" A voice hissed. The man who had uttered the words dropped a large laser rifle from a strap hanging over his shoulder. The weapon hit the ground with a metallic _clang_, one which the Happy Trails caravan driver before him didn't so much as flinch at. The only reaction he offered was the furrowing of his brows. He watched in silence as his hardly tolerant customer disarmed until he was satisfied with the extent of his cooperation.

"Yep, and it ain't changin' for you, Remi," he drawled, catching the inhospitable, icy blue glance he received from the one he addressed as "Remi", who seemed to be muttering something crude under his breath. He couldn't make out what Remi had said, but he damn well knew it wasn't kind. "Quit your bitching. 'You still want a ride, you'll get over it," he snorted as the taller, darker haired man before him continued to remove supplies and carelessly drop them next to a crate. ..Which was designated for supplies.

Remi had a distaste for leaving any of his lovely weapons out of his company, however in order to get to Zion… He'd manage to part with them, temporarily. It had to be his weapons that he ridded of, as they were without a doubt the heaviest items in his possession. His only other belongings were his clothing and chems, which were all significantly lighter than a Plasma Caster. At that, Remi had no armor he'd have to remove, fortunately. He practically lived in his Kings jacket, wearing that as his _shining armor_ instead; whether or not that poor, beaten leather offered any resistance in combat. Not that Remi gave a damn, though.

Remi eventually stripped himself down enough to meet the weight requirements- with some reluctance, yes- but he still did as instructed, to say the least. Now, with most of his larger weapons abusively strewn away on the ground next to a crate, Remi was left to an array of small guns, and knuckles. Brass knuckles, that is. Nothing more trusty than your own metal-clad fist, right? Remi thought so.

With surprisingly nimble fingers, he smoothed his jacket neatly over the white shirt beneath and zipped it just about half-way up. The zipper idly rested just below his chest. "Right. Fine. There. I'm down to seventy-five," he sneered, looking to the caravan driver for some response. With arms crossed, the Happy Trailsman swirled around on his heel and headed for his caravan wagon, which was already rigged and prepared for travel as of hours ago. This was his expression of his satisfaction, and that Remi was welcome on the ride to Zion now. Remi's chest rose and fell sharply with a drawn-out sigh. He wouldn't verbalize his irritation at the caravaner this time around; there would be no use for it. He'd just ignore it. Remissum zipped his jacket the remainder of the way up his body, then proceeding to follow after his driver, meanwhile mumbling; "Joshua better be real fucking glad I decided to come…"

The drive from the outskirts of New Vegas to Zion felt no shorter this time around than any other, even with no stops or interruptions along the way. The time seemed to pass agonizingly _slower_ when Remi stared out the back of the wagon at the passing landscape; idly staring as raw, broken Earth passed by. Inch by inch, pebble by pebble. The landscape of the Mojave felt rich and strangely _alive_ when one walks it, however when you're merely a spectator of it like this… It gives off a certain barrenness. Hollowness. Perhaps even death.

Remi exhaled deeply through his nose and drew his aching eyes back from the land rolling by outside. He leaned his head back against the wagon tarp and grunted after doing so, as the caravan had passed over a small obstruction in their path. Probably a rock.- Or maybe a dead animal. The Mojave had a whole fucking lot of rocks. And dead things. Remi shifted his weight back so that his neck and shoulders were partially pressed against the tarp as well, so to hold his body steady. His eyes relaxed as he stared at the dimly lit opposite side of the carriage. He lifted his right hand to move stray brunette locks from his forehead, pushing them up over his scalp in an unnaturally messy manner. Generally speaking, Remi always made quite the effort to keep his hair in a smooth wave atop his head. This was nothing like that, but at least his hair was out of the way. On his hand's way back down, he ran fingers over his chin and down his neck, scratching skin through his short, though thick and coarse scruff.

For the next several hours to come, Remi's cornflower eyes wouldn't move from their place on the opposing side of the tarp. He seemed now as if sight was his least honed sense, as his gaze didn't only look stilled, but it looked distant. Out of focus. Hazed. In his lap, Remi had the fist fitted with brass knuckles balled, while the other hand rolled its fingers over the metal, which by now was uncharacteristically warm from the excessive human touch.

Touch, by now, was his only sense which was still in crisp, clear focus. The sensation of fingertips ghosting the tiny scrapes and depressions in otherwise smooth metal was one far from dull to him. Remi knew every mark on that metal piece of equipment as well as he knew that of his own hands. It had such a strong significance to him, despite being such a small, invaluable,_ replaceable_ thing.

As day fell into night, Remi would eventually press his entire back limply against the tarp, slumping lazily. His head tilted back, and eyes now stared higher, toward the top of the carriage. Faded dull grey Brahmin skin spotted with a couple of patchy stains it'd accumulated throughout its days in the Mojave filled his vision. It probably used to be white when it was first crafted. Or.. at least somewhere close to that. Remi's eyes grew tired of watching an unchanging image for so long, and after some time, closed; succumbing to the heaviness that'd settled on them like a Mirelurk over its nest. By now only his hand moved, still endlessly repeating the motion of rubbing worn metal. Only when he fell into shallow sleep did his hands idle in his lap.

The next several days were barely different from the first. The setting surrounding the caravan took a shift in life as they grew closer to Zion, however. The rocks and dust took on the canyon's natural rusted gold color and plant life became subtly more common. Remi toyed with a small wireless radio in his lap as the noon sun above spilled onto him through the thin curtain at the wagon entrance. The sound of buzzing static and occasional flashes of slurred music caused Remi's lip to curl in frustration. Thus far, he hadn't managed to find one clear station. Static and unrecognizable music was it. Flick upon flick later, still he came to no avail. God, it shouldn't be _this_ difficult to get a fucking-

_"You're nobody 'till somebody loves you. And that somebody is me. I love you. - This is Mr. New Vegas, filling in for… Mr. New Vegas."_ A familiar voice crackled through the radio, at long last. Remi sighed and grinned, satisfied with his success. He moved his fingers from the device and kept it sat in his lap, leaning back and closing his eyes as he waited for Mr. New Vegas' usual smooth "Vegas classics" to play.

"Jesus, man. Will you turn that shit off? It gets obnoxious, fast." The caravan driver hissed back at Remi, triggering an audible huff from Remissum. "I got somethin' to show you, anyways," he continued, giving a gesture for Remi to abide to in his direction with a swift turn of his head. Remi flicked the radio off with stiff fingers and tossed it rudely off his lap, letting it hit the wooden bench beside him. It rolled twice, landing on its side. Silent. "…Well don't take your sweet time gettin' up here," he snapped back at Remi as he waited. At that, his teeth clenched and his fist balled. It'd barely been half a minute since his last statement. He understood that it was a small carriage and moving from where he was sitting to the driver was only a matter of several steps, and that the driver was fully aware of such, but he could still have held some fucking patience.

Remi stood and walked behind the sitting driver, where he curled his right hand over one of the metal bars supporting the caravan cover so that he could keep his balance while standing. "What?" He spat simply and irritably, staring out past the Happy Trails worker at the seemingly drab landscape ahead. His eyes narrowed as he stared out, searching for something of significance. He only got more pissed at the caravaner as his eyes failed to find anything even vaguely impressive. What did he want?

The driver took a hand from his Brahmin's reigns and pointed ahead, though at a slight angle veering off from their path. He pointed at a cluster of tall rock formations a good distance ahead. "Look'it one a' them boulders out there. It's got some a' those.. uh.. signal what-nots them tribals you like use," he said, glancing at Remi for conformation he'd spotted the Dead Horse chalk drawings covering a portion of sandstone pillars. Remi stood quietly as he studied the chalk from this distance, eyes squinted. The fingers he had coiled around metal tightened. He knew some of the Dead Horses' signals by now, however he was still particularly rusty with them. He could get the gist of things, at least. What was really troubling, though, wasn't his less-than-average understanding of Dead Horse communication. Why were _Dead Horses_ out here? They still had at least another day and a half before they reached Zion, and generally the Horsemen never ventured outside their homeland this far, especially with most of their necessities already in the canyon. Could it have been Joshua's doing for his men being out this far? Remi's knuckles twitched and his fingers twisted around the metal bar they held. Something in his stomach turned as he studied the writing; made his hand squeeze so hard his knuckles nearly turned white.

"It's an SOS." The words left his lips with a certain weight carried with them. Remi's eyes didn't falter from the stones ahead for another few moments. "Once you reach them, _stop_," he commanded, staring down at the caravan driver. The driver only returned a quick flick of his own brown eyes and a rough, nervous swallow. He wouldn't say anything. He would listen to Remi's words, however, and stopped for him once they reached the immense stones. Of course he would.

From this angle, stopped beside the formations, Remi could see that within the giant boulders was a hollowing. A wide split right down the middle of the rocks. Plenty big enough to accommodate people, however also big enough to accommodate animals, _or worse._ With a loud thud of his boots hitting solid dirt, Remi stepped away from the parked caravan and toward the rocks. He kept one hand pinned to a holster on his hip, harboring a .45 pistol.

His shadow cast dark and long through the hollow, falling over a long dead campfire in the center of the small cave. He took a step further to investigate, however was stopped by the sudden sensation of cold and lifeless steel pressing to his neck.

"Y-you take one more step, I swear I-I'll cut your head off!" _That voice felt familiar._ He tried to turn his head, look at his attacker, though the blade hugging his neck being pressed harder halted him. He grunted quietly. "Don't make me hurt you!" He insisted. Oh, how kind of him. The knife he's got pressed to Rem's neck really exhibits his compassion.

Remi swallowed and he felt his Adam's apple press the blade as it shifted. "…You told me not to take a step," he said, earning a faint sigh from the one holding the knife.

"I-…" He made a short, irritated sound, "just don't move, okay?" He asked, obviously inexperienced with these sorts of situations. Attackers generally aren't polite. Remi's shoulders and neck loosened now. This guy wasn't going to hurt him, he knew that. He sounded scared. Yet still… That voice, and now behavior.. It felt familiar. It felt… Oh, **fuck**.

"Follows-Chalk?" The knife pulled back.

"M-mister Remissum?" Definitely Follows-Chalk. "I'm sorry! I thought you were another bandit.." He apologized, sheathing the hunting knife in his belt. His shoulders were raised high as if he were still nervous and on-edge.

"Another?" Remi repeated, now able to turn his head and stare at Follows-Chalk, who looked a mess. His skin was dirty and signature headdress was covered in a thick blanket of dust. His fingertips were faintly stained with dry blood. "The fuck are you doing out here, Chalk? Does Graham know you're out this far from camp?" He demanded, leaving his previous statement to the wind. He didn't sound directly angry, but he did sound undoubtably displeased. Perhaps concerned.

Follows-Chalk made a quiet whimper and looked away, toward the floor of the cave, which was now completely dark as the sun had shifted just enough to neglect the cave of its light. "He… He knows that I am away, yes," Follows-Chalk began, trying and evidently failing to side-step admitting he left camp without telling Joshua he would be traveling this far out. He seemed to flinch as Remi grumbled, dissatisfied with that response.

"You know it's a _terrible_ idea to lie to him, Chalk," Remi said, and saw the Dead Horse before him open his mouth once again to speak, however he cut him off as he continued, "you're coming with me now. I don't know how well you got out here alone, and I don't care, but you sure as hell aren't going back alone," he growled, "I'm on my way to Zion now. Only reason I stopped was because of your stu-"

"My distress signals, I know. I was hoping you would see them," he interrupted, "I… did not draw them for myself, though," he confessed, voice strained and slow, which made Remi's expression falter. Rather than verbalizing his intentions of the SOS, Follows-Chalk stepped away and sank into the pitch-black back end of the cave. Remi heard the quiet shuffling of skin against the sandy stone floor as Follows-Chalk moved about. He returned walking much slower, more weighed down, with… _Fuck._

A Dead Horses scout. In his arms, unconscious. Covered in bloodied bandages and too many bruises to count. Remi's brows raised and quickly furrowed again at the sight. He remained silent for a few moments, and resisted the urge to snap at Follows-Chalk at this point. He wanted to smack the damn kid upside his head. Remi stepped closer to Follows-Chalk, nearly up against him, and taking,_ forcing_, the injured tribal into his own arms. It wasn't that his trust for Chalk was broken, however it was.. stained. He thought it best he assume responsibility for the wounded man for as of this moment. As of seeing the trouble Chalk had gotten him into. Follows-Chalk didn't put up any resistance when Remi took the man. He gave him up willingly, if anything; as if he were grateful for Remi's assuming temporary care of the tribesman.

Remi's eyes cast between the man he held and to Follows-Chalk one last time before he sucked in a long, deep breath, and spoke with his exhale. "We'll talk-_ with Joshua_\- once we're back. Right now I don't even fucking want to know what the hell you did," he said, turning around to face the exit of the cave before Follows-Chalk even had the opportunity to speak, much less protest.

Earlier, Remi was merely agitated and concerned over his tribal friend, but now- now he was mad. Genuinely angry. How did Follows-Chalk manage to get himself into shit like this? As far as Remi knew as of this moment, the man in his arms had the potential to be either just a matter of several Stims, or on the brink of death. In the wasteland, even the smallest wounds can count, depending on who or what you got them from. Follows-Chalk better have some hell of a convincing story as to how all this came to be. Remi lay the outed man on one of the benches within the caravan, and took a seat at his feet. Follows-Chalk sat directly opposite of him. The two seemed to mirror each other's posture; sitting slumped forward, forearms set against their knees, and heads low.

For the remaining hours of the trip, none of them would speak. Not the caravan driver, not Remi, nor Follows-Chalk. They all sat in a continuous, enveloping silence, one which each of them had a different reason for contributing to. Chalk's being shame, Remi's being pent up aggression, and the driver's being indifference. The only notable sound to break their silence was that of Remi's lighter flicking open and snapping closed seconds later as he lit a cigarette which he'd placed between his lips. The distracting curls of smoke which would cascade from his lips for the next set of breaths would at least shift the men's focuses. Momentarily.

The caravan reached Zion in the earliest hours of morning, before the sun had the chance to breach the high canyon walls. They entered Dead Horse camp not long following, and at the hour Remi and Follows-Chalk arrived, most of the camp was still asleep or otherwise silent. Inactive.

All save for Joshua Graham, of course.

Remi lingered at the entrance of Angel Cave. He flicked his cigarette onto the ground and pressed it into the dirt by the heel of his boot before entering. Alone, for the time being. Follows-Chalk wished to stay outside until he was instructed to do otherwise. Remi wouldn't object. He "wanted to stay with his friend," the wounded tribal.

Inside, the cave was dimly lit; darker than in the active hours of the day, and Dead Horses covered the sleeping matts spotted throughout the chamber. He passed them by quickly, heading directly for Joshua's own section of the cave. While the main room was relatively dark, Joshua's was quite the opposite. The torches in his chamber were still as bright and as flickering with live light as ever. Not unexpected in Joshua's regards. He started his days early and ended them late. Remi figured he was already up inspecting guns. Or something else Joshua-like.

At that, he would be correct. Upon entering the chamber, Joshua immediately came into the center of his vision. He sat at his desk in the middle of the room, working with .45 auto pistols in the same practiced, perfected manner he always did. New, clean, white bandages covering his damaged skin seemed oddly illuminated by the light of the torches surrounding him. He practically glowed. He was aware of Remi's entering the room, however he didn't even make the slightest movement to acknowledge such. His hands continued to move in quiet, routine patterns. They _never_ faltered. The way his hands moved was an art in itself.

Remi would be forced to walk close enough to a point at which he could press his hands onto Graham's desk, or reach across it and grab his attention by other means. He hated when Joshua did this. When he _didn't react_. It made him burn like radioactive fire, despite being such a small thing. Joshua had this certain… silent form of manipulation that he used on Remi. And only Remi. Because it only worked on Remi. No one else in the Mojave was as bothered by compete _silence_ as Remi was, and Joshua seemed as if he had grown aware of that, and knew how to exploit it.

Remi slammed his hands, palms down, onto Joshua's desk, sending a thick vibration through the wooden planks of the table and through each of his guns. Yet still, no reaction from Joshua. Not even a fucking flinch. He proceeded to work on his weaponry as usual. Unaltered. Remi's nostrils flared as he released a deep, frustrated sigh. "I brought your fucking kids back." Referring to Joshua's men. It pissed him off even more that it was him that had to break the silence. It was typical of Joshua to remain silent long enough for Remi to lose his tolerance, because he knew it didn't take long for that to happen.

Remi was too easy for him.

"Was it necessary I was informed?" Even if Josh's returned wits didn't make Remi happy, he was at least appeased by the sound of Joshua's voice. There were times when in a situation like this, Joshua would remain in complete silence until Remi was practically behaving like an obedient dog. _Too easy._ "I trusted Follows-Chalk to his own devices. Any trouble he's gotten himself into is at his own fault," he said solemnly, eyes still keenly focused at the gun in his hands. That was another thing that would crawl under Remi's skin. Joshua was perfectly capable of engaging in conversation meanwhile never maintaining eye contact. He didn't like it. He felt as if the conversation couldn't be focused if Joshua never made eye contact. Which was odd, because he didn't feel that way about anyone else. In fact, the matter of eye contact never even crossed his mind around anyone else. Perhaps it was simply the notion that _everyone else_ made eye contact, and it was only _Joshua_ who didn't, so he only noticed it in Joshua. Only grew irritated with it in Joshua.

"Kid didn't just get _himself_ into trouble, though." Joshua's hands paused, "I found him outside Zion with another Dead Horse. The one with him got attacked by…" he hesitated, "somethin'," his tone raised at that final word, laced with uncertainty. Because, really, he didn't know what had attacked that tribal. Being hazed by annoyance and anger toward Follows-Chalk aside, he hand't gotten a good look at his wounds, as Follows-Chalk had already dressed them by the time the two were found, so as of the current moment all he knew was that he was, quite frankly, pretty fucked up. And unconscious. In front of him, Joshua dropped his gun onto the table and cast his slate blue eyes up at him. It's a shame it took the threat of his men being injured for him to finally make eye contact. 'Guess that's just what's really matters to him.

"Something?" He repeated. He already sounded irritated. "How bad are his wounds?" Now concerned.

"Chalk's already got 'em bandaged up, so I'm not sure. I can tell you there were quite a few of them, though. A couple looked pretty nasty, too," he replied,_ nasty_ being a synonym for _big_. Joshua's hands impatiently twitched against his desk. He was waiting for something in particular to be said. "..The hurt one's still out cold, but Chalk's up. Seems like something scared the shit out of him, but he's up," Remi added.

"Where is he?" There we go. He found what he was looking for. At that, it clicked for Remi that Joshua probably wanted to find Follows-Chalk and lecture him on his poor actions as punishment for what he's done. …Now, generally, yes, a lecture doesn't sound much like a worthy punishment for nearly killing another member of your tribe, but a lecture from Joshua Graham, on the other hand, is a more than worthy punishment.

Graham stood from his chair and faced Remi eye-to-eye. The piercing look in his eyes which he passed on insisted he answer clearly. Any side-stepping would come with an immediate consequence. But, more than that, the look in his eyes seemed.. _aggressive_. Like that of a hunting Deathclaw.

Well, Chalk's really got something coming for him now. Joshua Graham is a man to fear when he's _angry_.

"..Just outside."

The remainder of the night became a blur from there on out. Remi could recall Joshua casting him off to a bed, telling- well, more so _commanding_\- him to get some rest. Because "he had a long trip." Right. What bullshit. Nice as that gesture was, Remi knew well enough Joshua only wanted him to be out of the way when he left to talk to Follows-Chalk. Despite Remi having absolutely no intent or even need to sleep, …he listened. He was intimidated by Graham, to say the least. Whether or not he would ever admit that, the fact of the matter still stood.

Now, about eight AM in Dead Horse camp, Remi sat at the edge of the shallow pool of water which hugged the camp's border. The sun just barely peeked over the canyon walls by this time, spilling only slivers of light into camp. Behind him, he heard Joshua arise from Angel Cave and walk up behind him. He immediately knew it was Joshua due to the sound of his boots tapping the clayish soil underfoot, unlike the generally bare-footed tribals. He sat a few inches from him on the ground, moving stiffly as he did so. Somewhat due to restriction from his bandages, somewhat due to fatigue. Joshua could act as if little to no sleep didn't bother him all he wanted, however it was no secret that it did effect him.

"Yao Guai," Joshua began, casting a glance at Remi, "one of their cubs attacked Follows-Chalk and his friend. ..Fortunately, the cub's mother didn't find them," he said. "They'll both be fine. Chalk isn't leaving camp again for a while, however. He said he left because he was _following someone_," he spat those words with a certain distaste, " 'Won't tell me who, and only God knows why the hell not. In any case, I'm not going to force it out of him; I just told him as long as he's putting other lives at risk for his own pursuits, he's not leaving this camp." Joshua's voice came across low and strict, even more so than usual. This didn't come as a surprise to Remi. Joshua came to care deeply for his tribe and their well being, especially after their endeavor with the White Legs. He was also probably on-edge about his tribe now more than ever, what with the Legion now posing a potential threat to Zion.

Remi remained quiet, fingers subtly ticking involuntarily in his lap, as if.. _nervous._ He turned to look directly at Joshua, who had already moved his gaze away to stare down at the water before his feet.

They both began to share this tense, brooding silence together, as if there were a worrisome thought that had crossed the both of their minds, however neither of them were prepared to verbalize it.

But, alas, Remi found the unsaid, the silence, worse than the words. "You think there's any way he was following one of their couriers?" There was no need to define who _their_ referred to. Joshua would know. He already knew.

"…Unfortunately." They sat in silence.


	3. Chapter 2

_Hello, again, and welcome to chapter two. I hope everybody's doing well, and all I have to leave as a note this update is a link.(or, well.. kind of. doesn't seem to like links.) I figured I'd doodle up a vague appearance reference for our dear courier, Remi. Go to imgur . com &amp; add /MckIKpc . png_

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From here, they could only descend deeper into the purpose of Remi's visit to Zion. Or, so they intended.

After the noon sun finally breached the canyon walls, Joshua and Remi began preparation for a long trek, intended to span all the way through Zion's Grand Staircase and back. They were doing this so that they could scout the area for Legionary couriers, or at least for signs of said couriers having passed through recently. However, they only intended to _scout_ for them. For the time being, they wouldn't make an attempt to capture a Legionary; not until Joshua had a set-in-stone plan to do so. Joshua wouldn't ever intentionally engage in a potential attack which he hadn't planned for himself. He was somewhat paranoid, in that sense, but more so he was just.. meticulous. Always abiding by rules and lessons ingrained into his thought process. His natural leadership-oriented mentality and favoring for complete order made him nothing but resent disorganized, freelancing objectives.

So, if they weren't even going to engage a Legionary, in the case they did find one in Zion, why not send a group of Dead Horse scouts instead of themselves?

Simple.

Joshua has faith in his own skills more than anyone else's. He's trusted that if anyone could track a Legion man, it would be a former Legion man. ..More than that, in fact. A former Legion _Legate. _The co-founder of the entirety of Caesar's twisted cult.

Joshua had a familiarity with the Legion's tactics that by now, years after putting the Legion behind him, felt merely like instinct to him. He knew how they moved, how they fought, how they planned, how they communicated.. Hell, he even knew how they fled. Seeking them out would be easier for him than anyone else in Zion.

The only reason now was the first time Joshua was going _Legion hunting_ was, quite frankly, because of Remi's presence. Remi had an acute knowledge of the Legion, though perhaps lesser so than Joshua, he was still less ignorant of the Legion's whereabouts than the Dead Horses were. Traveling together, they should be more than capable and finding a Legionary, and even as far as being capable of defending themselves from a Legionary; should that situation arise.

Put simply, Joshua had held out on conducting a search himself until he had Remi accompanying him in Zion.

Remi armed himself with a .45 and his brass knuckles, while Joshua only two pistols of the same variety. That alone may sound like very little in comparison to the fierce adversaries native to Zion, however with Remi's raw strength and Joshua's impeccable aim, they would be perfectly fit to navigate the canyon. ..This is all coming from_ their _point of view, of course. Both Remi and Joshua suffered a minor, however permanent, installment of _arrogance. _It was lesser in Joshua than Remi, though still present nevertheless.

As the two departed from camp, Remi caught the familiar gaze of Follows-Chalk piercing through his leather jacket and onto his skin. The look in his eyes wasn't sad, nor angry, nor even apologetic, which was the most expected out of Follows-Chalk. It was _envious. _Remi knew of Follows-Chalk's idolization of Joshua, though he hadn't quite expected Chalk to still want to be in Graham's company after last night. Remi supposed he was a very forgiving person, but.. Wouldn't he want to stay out of Joshua's way until their tension subsided? Perhaps..

Perhaps Chalk wanted to take part in scouting and eventually capturing a Legion courier. Perhaps he wanted Remi's position. Why? So that he could impress Joshua? That seemed to be the most plausible.

It mattered not now. They passed by Chalk and headed out of camp within a matter of seconds. Neither of them offered a word to him in the process of doing so. No goodbyes.

They walked in silence for an undesirably long period of time. Joshua seeing no reason to speak, and Remi being void of things to say. He knew he'd only lose Joshua's interest further if he tried to make some kind of.. small talk.. sort of thing. This silence didn't last for too long however, as it was only a matter of time before Remi _had_ to break through the still air between them.

"When's the last time your scouts spotted a Legion dog?" He asked, flicking his eyes over at Graham for only a moment.

"Two weeks." His reply was short, tense, straight to the point. No interest in conversation.

"'Hate to make assumptions, but.. Follows-Chalk called 'em in, didn't he?" He asked. He had a growing suspicion of Chalk's involvement with this little investigation of theirs regarding the Legion. Joshua seemed as if he had almost stopped in his steps at Remi's question. He sighed. The sound was soft and muffled through the bandages covering his mouth.

"..Yes. Follows-Chalk has spotted the last _three, _in fact," Graham said it as if he were confessing to something. "These all being spaced out between several weeks; in one case ranging to months," he elaborated, "bear in mind, Remi, Follows-Chalk is one of our most talented scouts. He shows ample potential and dedication to whatever cause is at hand. I told him to seek out Caesar's couriers; that's what he did." A hefty compliment to give to someone he just spend the morning ridiculing. Goes to show the extent of Joshua's mutual respect for his men and their strongpoints, .. however, also how he doesn't take pity on anyone. For anything. He believes in giving consequence where consequence is due. ..Per example, the execution of Salt-Upon-Wounds.

"Dedication is right," Remi's lips curled into a smile, "looks like he took _that_ far enough to get his buddy mauled by a fucking bear," he made a short chuckle following his words. He acted as if now that the matter of Follows-Chalk getting another Dead Horse wounded had passed, it had become something crudely _comedic._ Joshua glared at him momentarily. A warning shot, per say.

Joshua never quite took interest in Remi's sense of humor, which was often laced with passive-aggression and vulgarity, and even less so in the mockery of his tribe. Or really anything he harbors a strong respect or care for, at that. Remi was perfectly aware of both of these things, he just doesn't mind walking on thin ice with Joshua like this. He holds the personal belief that he isn't afraid of Joshua- though this is only partially true. Remi isn't afraid of Joshua when he doesn't have those _Deathclaw eyes. _Like the ones he used on Follows-Chalk. Remi doesn't fear Joshua only when he exhibits a calm and collected exterior, such as the one he carried now. Such as the one he's been carrying since he returned from lecturing Chalk early this morning.

Remi let them fall silent once again. He didn't want to follow up on that joke and humor the possibility of pissing Joshua off. This round of silence didn't last nearly as long as the previous. Around ten minutes, or so. Rem swallowed thickly, making his Adam's apple bounce as he cleared his throat. "You.. uh.. You and your guys haven't tried confronting one of the couriers yet, have you?" He asked, focusing intently on Joshua's expression as they continued to walk. That was such an.. Unusual question to ask. What did it matter if they'd encountered a Legionary? Thus far, he already knew Graham hadn't done anything to agitate the Legion, and nor did his men. It wasn't any of his concern. It didn't directly effect anything. it didn't matter.

This occurred to Joshua immediately, and he found himself at a loss as to why Remi wanted that information. He met Remi's paler blue eyes with his own. Joshua's eyes were dark. More focused and calculating. Remi's were simply waiting and watching for an answer. "..It's not-" he paused as he noticed Remi's expression falter at the slightest indication he wouldn't be receiving an actual answer. Which, in itself, was something rare from Joshua. He usually answered everything as he saw fit. And necessary. Within a second's notice, he started again, "no, not yet. I avoid them. I tell the Dead Horses to avoid them," he replied promptly, and immediately after, shifted his eyes away. He focused his gaze out in front of him once again. By now, they were nearly to the Sorrow's camp, and had just passed what that tribe knew as the "lair of She." Some cave they believed to be inhabited with a Yao Guai ghost. Or something. Probably something their drug-induced shaman _"discovered"._

"..Right," he acknowledged the reply, "okay." And that was that. He wouldn't say why he had requested that information, and Joshua wouldn't ask. There was a tension that began to build from there, however, as now Joshua had a new suspicion pointed in Remi's direction.

Remi drew in a long breath, taking a long pause as if in preparation to speak again. He wouldn't look at Joshua this time. "And.." Joshua's eyes fixed loosely on him. "Aside from you n'the Horses, nobody else knows I'm here, in Zion, ..right?" He asked. Joshua's suspicion would continue to rise ever so steadily. For what purpose was he asking these things? What significance did the answers to these questions hold?

"Daniel is aware, and therefore as are the Sorrows," he replied cleanly. His tone gave absolutely no revelation of his questioning Remi.

"And that's it?"

"Yes, that's it. News within Zion has a tendency to remain within Zion." A brief nod.

"Right." The same tone as before. The same blank acknowledgement of the answer as before. The same concealing tone which neglected to reveal anything in regards to why Remi was asking Joshua these things.

"Okay."

Their walk from there on out was painfully uneventful and, not surprisingly, meaningless. Remi would ask Joshua simple questions every now and again, like how Bighorner season was or some shit like that, just to avoid a stiff, indifferent silence from forming too thickly between them; though they never found themselves in a real, in depth conversation. This wouldn't come as a surprise. Neither Joshua nor Remi were very gifted in engaging in conversation, 'lest they had a reason other than merely breaking ice for it.

Remi and Joshua made it back to Dead Horse camp just before sunset graced Zion with its fuchsia-orange light. They both wore a drab, tired look on their faces that could only translate to "unfulfilled." It was much more evident on Joshua, whose shoulders also seemed to be slumping lower than usual. Much lower, considering he _usually_ walked with a tall, proud, and intimidating stature similar to that of a… a Legion legate. This simple difference in posture made him seem almost entirely different to Remi. With him tired, and somehow for once physically expressing that tiredness, he looked.. Vulnerable. Weakened. To a degree.. This is still _Joshua Graham._

They hadn't found any traces of Legion in the area. Fucking nothing. The first time Joshua and The legendary Mojave Courier themselves hunt for Legionaries, they find none. Not even as much as a footprint, a piece of their iconic red fabric, a rumor passed throughout the canyon tribals.. Nothing. They came out even more empty handed than they'd went in.

Just their luck.

By the time they returned to camp, it seemed as if the tribals were ending their day as little activity filled the area. Most of the tribals were probably either inside Angel Cave, or already curled up in a bedroll somewhere. Joshua took no time crossing Dead Horse camp to leave the Eastern Virgin behind and disappear into Angel Cave himself. He hadn't even said a word to Remi before doing so, though this fact didn't slow Remi in even the slightest sense as he followed after Graham. Remi caught up to Josh just in time to see him take a seat back at his desk in the center of his chambers. His chest slowly rose and fell with a deep sigh. This was sort of Joshua's way of saying he was done for today, that he was no longer interested in much of anything for the remainder of the night, aside from maybe guns. ..Back to his self-given chores, as usual.

Remi wasn't about to just take that as it was and leave Joshua be, alone in his section of the cave. Of course not. He dragged a chair from a small table off to the side of Joshua's room and sat it on the opposite side of Graham's desk at which he was sitting. Remi dropped himself into the seat and leaned over the table, propping his elbows on the wood. All the while, Joshua went about inspecting his guns. Again. Like always. No fucking surprise.

This was his way of being "distant." Remi couldn't stand it. He was being completely, intentionally silent again.

"Not even gonna stay and watch the sunset with me?" Remi pulled a short grin over his cheeks. It was intended to be somewhat playful, though the differing look in his eyes seemed to cut that portrayal short. His eyes showed his concern, his fatigue, and his persistence in gaining Joshua's attention; which all contradicted the forced intention of the smirk. Joshua wouldn't notice either of these things, however, as his eyes would focus strongly on the gun he'd taken into his hands.

"No." He tone was surprisingly low. Can't even take a joke tonight, can he? Well.. Not that he ever really takes jokes, but, in any case.. "I can't focus out there. I can focus here," he said as an audible_ click_ sounded from the gun he held, and he set it aside. Finished and satisfied with it. Before he could pick up the next gun, he looked forward to Remi. Finally. His hands would stop there and fold over one another, dropping against the table. Something he saw in his opposition's stare would stop him from picking up another pistol.

"Right. Guns help you focus." Remi's eyes flicked down at Joshua's hands, silently appreciating their stillness, then returning to the slate-y blue eyes ahead of him. He was surprised Joshua had decided to set aside his guns without any real persuasion. He was also silently thankful for such.

"They do." Rem chuckled briefly at that response. His shoulders slumped as they subtly began to relax. Joshua was tense, but at least now Remi knew he wasn't angry. They both consecutively fell silent for a few moments. Maybe even a minute or two. Remi eventually leaned back in his chair and somewhat straightened his spine against the wood.

"Well, if we aren't gonna watch the sunset… I got other means of relaxing," he half-mumbled. He took one hand off the table and reached into one of his jacket pockets, where he first retrieved a shiny metal lighter, then a pack of cigarettes following that. He plucked out a single cigarette from the small carton before lightly tossing the box onto the table, still open. He held the cigarette between his fingers and cast his eyes at Graham, then gave a faint nodding gesture to the box. " 'Fraid you're gonna have to obstruct your bandaids, Josh." He grinned. Genuinely grinned. Joshua, on the other hand, only furrowed his brows. Joshua didn't smoke. Not anymore, at least.

"Remi, I've told you before, I don't-"

"C'mon.." He interrupted, speaking smoothly along a drawn-out exhale, tilting his head and pulling a brighter smile, which tipped his mustache in the most charming of ways. "I don't pay you visits often. Humor me."

Joshua sighed. He was right, at that. It had been _months_ since Remi was last in Zion, and even then his and Remi's meeting was very brief. Beginning very slowly, Joshua picked his arms up off the table and reached his hands behind his head, where his bandages tied together, and slowly, cautiously, began to unravel them. He had several "sections" of bandages along his body. Those being his head, arms, legs, and torso. Each section of bandage was separate, so that mobility was least limited and so that they were at their easiest to remove.

Joshua was very careful and slow about removing the bandages from his face, which he proceeded to remove entirely. Underneath, his originally tanned ivory skin was riddled with those terrible burn scars he sustained some number of years ago. Remi's smile faded. It was only just now, in the moment, when Joshua finished taking off the wraps from his head, did he realize he… he had never_ actually_ seen Josh's face until now. He fell completely silent, eyes focused completely on the burned man before him. It was as if he was trying to mentally form a map of Joshua's face now that he could see it. In full. Discover and remember every groove while he had the opportunity.

Joshua's eyes.. they seemed less dull gray-blue without the bandages. They seemed just.. _Blue._ Much brighter than Remi's own, in fact. Perhaps Joshua's eyes were never semi-gray, and it was just that his bandages constantly dulled them. Obstructed their color.

That was.. What a shame.

"I hope you don't ask me to smile." It was odd watching Joshua's lips move as he spoke, rather than just hearing him through that white fabric covering his mouth. His voice, also, sounded so much crisper and clearer now. Even deeper. Not even slightly muffled to Remi's ears. ..But, even more odd that that, or Joshua's eyes, or Joshua's skin, or Joshua's lips, or anything.. Graham just _made a joke._ A self-deprecated one, at that, but nevertheless. Huh. Looks like his sense of humor didn't die with his hope for Caesar's Legion.

Remi's smile finally returned and he set his hand atop the cigarette box, sliding it across the table, closer to Joshua. Joshua picked one from the box. Set it between his scarred lips. Remi held his own cigarette lightly between his teeth, flicked his lighter open, and held the new born flame up to the tip until soft wisps of smoke arose from it. He reached across the table and held the lighter below Joshua's in the same manner he had done to his own.

Joshua's eyes closed momentarily. He drew in a deep inhale. Exhaled. His eyes reopened. It'd been years since Joshua last smoked, and especially in such a relaxed manner such as this. Generally if he ever did smoke back then, it was as a means to relieve stress. It was very rarely quite as pleasant as this.

Remi watched as blooms of smoke rose and dissolved into the still cave air around them. He grinned and looked to Joshua, whose posture was looser and more relaxed. Much different from usual. Even more so different from what he usually _wanted_ people to see. "Nice, ain't it?"

"It's.." He paused, breathing out another stream of pale grey. "Yeah.. It's nice." Even the way he spoke was more relaxed and less formal, less serious, than what was normal for him.

"Better than your damn guns?" He grunted a momentary chuckle.

"That's pushing it." Remi's grin grew wide enough to bare teeth. It made him surprisingly happy to see Joshua this different. This unraveled. This bare, unguarded, and calm.

After that, the two of them would somehow manage to enjoy silence together. Because this silence wasn't Joshua's abuse of Remi's tolerance; it was the two of them contently sharing each other's company without a need for words. They would remain in this tranquil silence 'till their cigarettes met their end. At which point, Joshua was leaning back in his seat, eyes half-lidded and dim. He looked calm enough to a point at which he might even fall asleep.

Remi cleared his throat, catching Joshua's attention as well as his blue eyes with the sudden sound. _Now. Now's perfect time,_ he thought."Hey.. Josh.. I gotta.. Gotta tell you something," he cast his own gaze up to meet Graham's. Joshua's expression immediately lost a bit of its casualness. He seemed more intent. Focused. In the sense that he was keenly listening. "I can't.." Remi stopped, clearing his throat _again_, as if the words were becoming difficult to formulate, "I can't stay long. Only a week, then I have to.."

"One week?" Joshua interrupted. His brows had furrowed. That relaxed, pleasant expression upon his face was beginning to reduce now. "It isn't possible to get done what we need done in a week." Remi was perfectly aware of that. It was simply that the reason for which he was leaving was even more so impatient than Joshua and his own cause was.

"I know. I only need to be back in New Vegas for a couple of days," he explained, "we'll start work again when I get back." He promised.

"A couple of days in New Vegas amounts to weeks away from Zion, Remi," Joshua's tone became lower. Stricter. Still lesser so than usual, but it was less hospitable than it was while they were smoking.

"I know.."

"What fucking business is so urgent that you have to leave Zion?" Irritation laced his tone now. He couldn't quite piece it together why Remi was leaving so soon, and especially why he hadn't brought this to Joshua's attention at some earlier date. "And why wasn't this taken into consideration before you came to Zion to begin with?"

"I thought it'd be better to be 'round a week, be gone a week, then come back instead'a postponing a whole month," he said, trying to sound as if he took the traveling time from New Vegas to Zion into consideration. Also meanwhile dodging the question of _why_ he was going on this short excursion back to the heart of The Mojave. He only hoped Joshua wouldn't ask again.

"Right." Joshua's shoulders seemed to have tensed. "And this wasn't something you felt you should've mentioned earlier, at the least?" _Thank God._ He didn't ask again.

"I thought it could wait, yeah," Remi gave a short, rolling shrug of his shoulders.

Joshua sighed and leaned back in his chair. No direct reply. He squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger. He seemed visually, physically irritated and under stress now. Even more stress than usual, actually. Which came to no surprise, because now any attempts he _could_ be making against the Legion couriers after this week would have to be put off. Ignored. He could only hope he and Remi got lucky and managed to intercept a Legionary this week, before Remi "has to leave." And even in the case they do capture a Legionary, Joshua may have to either carry out the majority of his plan by himself, or hold the courier for an entire week longer than expected.

Either that, or he take no action at all until _after_ Remi leaves and returns. Which amounts to about a two to three week setback. Two-to-three weeks he'd have to spend letting any and all valuable Legion couriers pass right through Zion as they so pleased.

Joshua seemed bitter again as he thought these things over. Which was anticipated. This was far from good news.. It came as no surprise Joshua didn't take kindly to it. In truth, though, Remi had decided to tell Joshua now, specifically, rather than any other time because he had wanted to tell him while he was at his most relaxed. He wanted to tell him when there was least potential of getting those _Deathclaw eyes._

Which, fortunately, it didn't seem like he was going to get them. As of the current moment.

"Look, Josh, I'm sorry." Remi exhaled deeply as he spoke.

Joshua's eyes fixated on Remi. Cold and hard. Brooding. For only a matter of seconds, though it felt like minutes. His expression seemed raw and even more intimidating without bandages covering the majority of his face. Joshua's emotions were so much more amplified without that layer of white.. "I will define the truth in that based on your actions." And he left the table. Fed up with this conversation. Fed up with this painful interruption in his plans. Fucking fed up with Remi. Earlier it was those questions, now this bullshit. It was flustering Joshua.

Joshua walked out of his quarters with his shoulders squared and tense, posture held tall. Intimidating. Like usual. Remi, of course, followed after him, catching up quickly and walking closely behind him. What the fuck is he doing? Leaving? To where? "Where are you going?" Remi demanded, matching Joshua's pace and beginning to walk by his side. Not too closely, however. Joshua avoided eye contact and kept his eyes focused ahead as he walked for the entrance of Angel Cave. Joshua didn't reply to Remi's question, only kept walking. Remi wasn't about to let him just leave. He repeated his question again.

No reply, again.

They were nearly through the first section of the cave. Approaching the entry. As a last resort, before Joshua could walk out of the cave and leave, Remi reached out and gripped his forearm. Tight. His hand wrapped around bandages, which themselves were enveloping skin and such significant muscle. Joshua jolted at this and_ glared_ back at him. He was forced to stop walking, and yanked his arm in the opposite of Remi's direction in an attempt to free himself, though Remi held his grip.

"Let go," he growled. He just seemed to be getting angrier. Nearly every trace of that previous relaxed expression had dissolved.

"_No,_" Remi hissed back, "not until you tell me where you're trying to go," he spat, staring back at Joshua. Challenging him. He'd try his best not to show weakness as he was confronted by the gaze of the infamous Burned Man, in his full, furious glory for which he was known.

"I don't think I owe you the luxury of answering that," he replied, lip curling as anger continued to build up, like water filling a drowning man's lungs. Quickly. Aggressively. Involuntarily. Remi squeezed his digits tighter around Joshua's arm. "Now _let go,_" he demanded.

"No." He outright refused; Joshua wasn't going anywhere as long as he had anything to do with it. ..Where would he go if he did manage to leave, anyway? Would he just go wander around Zion? Go fucking tackle a Yao Guai to get his frustration out?

Joshua practically boiled now. Remi wasn't letting him go, and that infuriated him. He stared at Remi still, now only with more anger filling his eyes 'till they were all the way to the brim. He gave another sharp yank of his arm, at which Remi responded with shoving closer to Joshua, grasping his arm tighter. He could feel Remi's fingers pressing shallow indents into his skin.

That was it. He'd done it. He pushed Joshua to the extent of breaking something through him.

_Deathclaw eyes._

"Let. Go." He said it slower, speaking through what were now clenched teeth as he resisted snapping at Remi. Though snapping, now, was all but painfully imminent. Like a branch bent nearly to its breaking point. One more pull, and…

"No!"

_Crack._ The branch would fall.

An immense, quickly spreading pain flooded through the right side of Remi's jaw. He was forced to let go of Joshua's arm as he stumbled backward, nearly falling if it weren't for his feet just barely catching their bearings. He spat a combination of blood and saliva onto the cave floor.

Remi barely managed to stand up straight again before he felt Joshua's hands gripping his jacket on either side of his neck, just under the collar, balling his hands into fists around the leather. He shoved Remi against the cave wall. Hard. Hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He pinned him there, pressing himself closely so that Remi was given the least amount of room to counter his move. He did all of this as if the prospect of leaving Angel Cave had slipped his mind, and the sudden surge of anger racking through him hazed his mind and guided his actions. Forgetting his previous intentions. Only caring about Remi. Quartering Remi against the wall like this was practically an instinctive reaction, product of his hostility.

Remi would struggle, but he wouldn't throw any punches in return to Joshua. He'd just get his face even more fucked up that way. Joshua was a fierce, persistent fighter. Needless to say, years of service as the acting Legate of a certain faction which specialized in hand-to-hand rendered Joshua a much better equip fighter. Remi _knew_ he'd lose. So, what? He just idle against the wall and fall limp for Joshua? Of course not. He struggled and squirmed against Joshua's grip simply to show defiance, at this point. He couldn't give up, but he also couldn't_ win._

Joshua and Remi's eyes locked as Graham held him against the wall. Neither of their eyes showed anything that was even slightly willing to surrender. Completely expected. Joshua's anger was incredibly pronounced and vivid without his bandages; Remi could see every last inch of his face and how it twisted with negativity. Every last groove, crevice, and curve.. How it moved with his anger. Jaggedly flowed with it. Joshua brought himself closer to Remi, whose chin tipped up as he did so, as to maintain full eye contact. "If you may leave the canyon on some unknown bullshit agenda, I can take a fucking walk without telling you where I'm going," he hissed lowly. Remi's expression faltered. Lost some of its intensity. Joshua seemed actually somewhat.. hurt.

He stopped struggling. Joshua didn't stop holding him against the wall, however. He still looked undeniably furious, staring directly at Remi, barely a couple inches from his face at this point. His eyes never faltered once. Didn't even blink. He was locked with Remi's gaze so strictly and unwaveringly because he was waiting. Waiting for Remi to say something to him in return. Something angry, or witty, or rude, or for God's sake, even something stupid. But…

Nothing.

Remi didn't say a word; just stared right back at Joshua. And Joshua wouldn't say anything to try and prod Remi to speak. That sort of thing just wasn't in his nature, no matter any amount of burning anger that could overtake the expanse of his skin. This silence first lasted seconds, which eventually escalated to minutes as neither of them made an effort to break it. Perhaps they didn't know how to break it. Perhaps they didn't want to. Remi could hear the steepness in Joshua's previously uneven, deep breaths reduce through the silence as it progressed. He listened to that particular rhythm long enough for his own breaths to begin to match Joshua's, inhaling and exhaling in time with him. Through all of this, despite Joshua's anger obviously beginning to die down, his grip on Remi's jacket didn't loosen. It endured.

Until he finally looked away from Remi. He shot his eyes downwards, escaping Remi's gaze, and let go. All at once, and took a step back. Remi nearly stumbled again as all of his weight was returned to him, and the pressure of Joshua's hands pressing him to the wall was gone. His own gaze faltered and when he looked back up, he felt a certain pain in himself to find Joshua's blue eyes evading his.

Joshua left to walk out of the cave from there, leaving Remi stood against the wall. Moving at a slower pace, his shoulders high, though head angled low. As to avoid eye contact. Remi wouldn't object this time as Graham left. He had nothing to say that posed good argument for him to stay. Graham held a painfully sharp point that Remi had no place stopping him, what with him leaving for some cause unknown to Joshua at the end of this week.

Neither of them would say a word.


	4. Chapter 3

_Hello, everyone! Well, the bi-weekly updates have begun, and I give you Chapter three. I hope you all enjoy and have a wonderful rest of your week._

_**Also, next update may be a bit delayed on account of a 5-day trip I take next week. I'll try to stay on time, though._

* * *

Joshua didn't return to camp until the following morning.

At which point, Remi was sitting on the ground just outside Angel Cave, head angled back against the stone wall, hands limp in his lap, and eyes closed. Sleeping. The way he was sitting was far from an ideal position; he'd probably wake up with even more sores than the ones he'd already gotten from Joshua. Odds were he hadn't picked that particular spot and situation for sleep. He'd, truthfully, picked it so he could wait, and watch. For Joshua to return. Graham could probably tell this right as he reentered camp, as there was little other reason for Remi to be there like that.

Joshua gave a faint sigh. He'd have to pass Remi by in order to go back into the cave, he may as well wake him up. There was no point in leaving him out here. All that would do is make him wake up later in the day, in a worse mood, and even more sore. No point. An irritable Remi is not something Josh would like to have to tolerate; and, in any case, Joshua could put an awoken Remi to good use if he tried hard enough.

He stopped at the entrance of the cave and reached his hand to his sleeping companion setting by it, then giving a short, hard flick to his forehead. At which, Remi's slow and steady breaths immediately hitched and he jolted, eyes squeezing tighter shut as he did so. A moment later, his eyes were wide open and staring up at Graham. They looked hazy and dark with fatigue, though still just awake enough to pass off a proper _go to hell_ stare. He groaned softly under his breath and rubbed a hand over his face, where he'd been flicked, leaning forward off the rocks behind him.

"God.. Good morning to you, too, asshole," he grumbled. His voice was thick and raspy with sleep; much more husky than usual. Joshua only gave an upwards tip of his chin in response; a gesture for him to stand.

"Get up off the ground," he said. His expression seemed completely frozen in a serious, stone-cold state. Not as aggressive as it was last night, though still nevertheless painted with austerity. Remi let out yet another faint groan before he, reluctantly, complied. He stood slowly and with unease, as if parts of his body were rejecting the idea and would rather he keep his place on the ground. His back and his neck were sore, as was the right side of his jaw, which was also spotted with aching shades of purple and blue. Upon fully erecting his stature, he stretched his tense shoulders by pushing them back and stretching his spine straight, which improved his posture even more so. He gave his neck a slow roll, causing it to quietly _crack. _

Remi's eyes lazily focused on Joshua, whose face was still completely without bandages and dimly lit by the morning light around them, which was glowing down in slivers because of the stark canyon walls surrounding the camp. He seemed to be minding his skin being bare surprisingly little.. Then again, perhaps the reason Josh was heading back to Angel Cave correlated with that. Remi noted bags under his eyes, indicating he most likely hadn't slept at all last night. He wondered what exactly it was Joshua had done, though odds were, he'd never find out. How frustrating. Remi had his own dark under-eyes to match, though they weren't quite as prominent as Joshua's.

Joshua gave a short gesture of his hand for Remi to follow him before continuing on making his way into the cave and eventually to his quarters. Remi followed silently. He hoped that despite Joshua obviously not being in the greatest mood this morning, he at least wasn't still angry with Remi for the night before. Well, at least not _as _angry. Joshua doesn't forget and forgive conflict so quickly.

Even after they'd entered Joshua's section of the cave, neither of them had said a word since they were outside. The only reason Remi wasn't speaking was because Joshua wasn't. Joshua wasn't speaking because he had other things aside from needless conversation on his mind. Joshua stepped over to a supplies crate setting amongst several others off to the side of his room and pulled out a roll of fresh, solid white, new bandages. He cast and quick, sharp glance at Remi before throwing the spool to him. He caught it as Joshua went to take a seat at his desk. Remi was staring at him with bright eyes and furrowed brows. After only waiting a few moments for the man to react, Joshua spoke up, "don't stand around like that, you've had experience with wrapping wounds before, I know that, you can handle _my head_," his voice was enveloped in bitterness toward Remi, despite that request in itself being quite _friendly. _Joshua always seemed to have a certain specific, precise way he put on his bandages day-in and day-out, so it was impressive to say the least he'd asked Remi to preform this task for him. Perhaps this was his way of showing forgiveness ...or maybe just his way of showing he's capable of completely tolerating Remi infringing on his normal routines.

Remi managed to crack a momentary smile. He started to unwind a short length of the bandage and wrap it around his fingers as he walked over to Joshua, and settled standing just behind him, against the back of his chair. He reached both hands in front of Joshua's face and pressed the fingertips of one hand to his cheek, causing Josh to slightly turn his head, while to other hand began covering Joshua's chin in white fabric. Warmth from the tips of Remi's fingers sank into Joshua's skin and settled there. It was a foreign feeling to him, someone else's hand on his cheek.. He felt every last detail of Remi's calloused skin, and his mind gave him a sharp, clear, and alert knowingness of the digits being present. It took a number of seconds for his mind to grow used to it and not focus on it so strongly. This relaxing faintly dulled the feeling of fingers pressing skin, though rendered no effect on the warmth. He didn't mind that.

Joshua eventually let out a long exhale through his nose and leaned his head back, making work on his face easier for Remi, who was beginning to thread bandages over his lips. Remi was actually a bit sad to be covering Joshua's face back up, truth be told. The feeling was faintly there, but, still, it was present. He found it surprisingly nice hearing Joshua's voice unmuffled and crisp, seeing how emotions projected on his face, seeing how his nose and his lips moved when he spoke, seeing his eyes bright blue and clear and without any ounce of gray and- "slow down. I would appreciate if you _didn't _suffocate me." His hands froze. He hadn't realized until Joshua spoke that was doubling his bandages, and wrapping significantly tighter than he needed to be. Guess he lost focus...

"Don't be a baby. I won't," he grunted back, leaning over Joshua's forehead as he spoke. Joshua shot his eyes up at him, brows furrowed. Irritated. Remi grinned and resumed wrapping, now only slower and more attentive. His hands shifted around Joshua's face to hold him steady as he went. The faint feeling of fingertips to skin lingered as they appeared and left Josh's skin. By the time Remi had finished and pinned the bandages in place, he could recall touches in a multitude of places. His cheek. His chin. His forehead. In the space just under his brow. There were small points on his skin where he knew warmth used to be, and felt each point try to adjust to that unfortunate loss.

After finishing completely and being satisfied with his work, Remi tossed the shortened roll of bandages onto Joshua's desk and backed up from his chair. He watched Joshua lift hands to his face to adjust parts of his bandages to _his _satisfaction. No matter how good of a job Remi might've done, it still wasn't up to Joshua's requirements. Of course. This was expected, however. There was a certain way Joshua's bandages were supposed to feel against his skin, and he'd make sure they _always_ felt that way. Nevertheless, it still pricked under Remi's skin that Joshua always had to fix these little things to exactly his liking. He wouldn't tolerate imperfections if he didn't have to.

Joshua pushed his chair back and stood, stepping around and facing Remi. His eyes were back to their usual dull blue-gray now, with the bandages back in place. "Well? How'd I do?" Remi nudged him to speak. He wouldn't have gotten up if he didn't have something to say. Otherwise he probably just would've started fixing and inspecting guns to pass time again.

"Well. You did fine," he muttered, even-toned. Remi frowned. It was unfortunate Joshua wouldn't exhibit his gratefulness even if he had felt it. Joshua took a pause before he spoke again, "…Now we need to start working." Working? "If we only have one week, we need to do as much as possible in contribution to our goal during that time," he said. It was interesting how Joshua picked his words. _Our_. To Joshua, this was just as much his responsibility as Remi's.

Joshua probably wanted to set up small Dead Horse camps around Zion so that detecting Legion troops would be easier. Joshua let out what sounded like a frustrated sigh before he continued, "it seems almost impossible we capture, interrogate, and exploit a courier in only a week," he admitted, "we'll just have to make due." He was avoiding eye contact as he spoke. Remi tried not to notice. "We'll set up scout stations around the canyon before you leave, and you and I personally are going searching for any traces of Legionaries, again." It was almost offensive to Remi how Joshua spouted plans in the form of commands, rather than requests, insinuating Remi didn't have much of choice whether or not he would be preforming these tasks.

Remi huffed under his breath. "Right, right, that's fine and dandy. No action 'till after I come back." He behaved as if he were disappointed. "Do you think Follows-Chalk is still gonna be joining the scouts you send out after his little Yao Guai tackle?" He asked. ..It was a valid question. Follows-Chalk was a fantastic tracker, however his recent fuck up and revelation of possible intrusion on Joshua's Legion hunt may make him seem like too much of a risk to take. Joshua didn't take risks 'lest he had no choice but to; especially when that risk could put his men in jeopardy.

Joshua crossed his arms and furrowed his brows. This wasn't something he wanted to make a decision on, because he knew whatever he decided would have a significant impact on his scouts. The most concerning part was that he couldn't tell what would have a positive outcome and what would have negative; letting Chalk go or forcing him to stay in camp. Graham's head tilted down, directing his eyes away from Remi as he thought.

"No," he replied tensely and with unease. "Not for the time being. He'll need to regain what trust he's lost first, then.. perhaps." Remi nodded. This was understandable, considering Joshua's value of trust and need for faith in his men.

Joshua turned back to his desk and picked up one of his .45 pistols, which had already passed his inspection, of course, and shrugged past Remi and began walking out of the room. Halfway across the chamber, he stopped and turned his head. Remi hadn't moved, 'hadn't wanted to yet. From this angle, he could perfectly see the work he'd done on Joshua's bandages.. Just above the nape of Josh's neck, Remi had bound his bandages together with a little bunny-ears bow. He'd just wanted to see it in action, and got just that as the stoic and cold Malpais Legate walked off with that cutesy bow at the back of his head. Absolutely _priceless, _even at the cost of trying Joshua's patience by just standing there.

Hopefully nobody would tell him about it..

"When I said we needed to start working, I _did _mean today," he grunted back at Remi. Such impatience.. Remi snatched another one of Joshua's pistols off his desk and holstered it before following after him, catching up quickly and slowing his pace as he settled by his companion's side.

Outside, Dead Horse camp was beginning to come to life as late morning light illuminated the clearing and reflected off the shallow water bordering the camp. The Horsemen going about their business would pause and nod a respectful greeting to Joshua as he passed them by, as they thought they were meant to. Remi lifted his chin and strode with a confident saunter, as if accompanying their highly regarded chief made _him_ feel better respected. By extension. Or something. Remi had an interesting perspective on how things such as this would, in some way, affect him in some "trickle down" effect.

Joshua stopped in the center of camp, Remi cross-armed by his side, and gave a loud, high-pitched whistle; at which the tribals halted whatever work was at hand for them and gathered around their superior. Including Follows-Chalk, who stood timidly toward the rear of the group. He probably didn't want to catch Graham's attention in even the least.

This was something they'd grown used to; Joshua beckoning them in with a single, sharp gesture like that. It was impressive how he gained attention and a commanding position so quickly, even with his past experience as a leader in mind.

The Dead Horse chief cleared his throat. "Throughout this week, I'm going to require all of you set aside your usual duties," the tribals gave little reaction as of yet, "I'm going to need all acting scouts as well as those who are not to temporarily act as scouts. You'll all be organized into small bands and placed throughout Zion for the task of spotting and reporting _anyone_ of Caesar's Legion," Joshua paused to take in reactions. Nothing severe, a few flustered faces, "mind you, this will only be for a week. You have been put under more in the past, and for longer periods of time," he stated, then concluding, "..prepare any supplies you'll need for Zion." At that, he dismissed his men with a simple, familiar wave of his hand. They dispersed as quickly as they gathered. Remi remained still by him, solemn. He was surprised Joshua didn't make some reference to how they would be "doing God's work", as he usually took a religious perspective to matters such as this.

Perhaps he believed this matter was of no concern to his faith.

"Alright, that's them; what about us?" Remi turned his eyes to Joshua, "when are we gonna go on our little Legion hike again?" He asked. Joshua offered no physical response; no rude glares or lowering eyebrows.

"Later this evening," he said and cast a glance down at The Courier's Pip-Boy 3000 clinging tight to his forearm, "_we _can search at night on account of your device and its flashlight." Joshua wasn't overly familiar with the Pip-Boy, nor any Vault Tech, for that matter, however he was well aware that Remi's little device could offer a consistent light which pre-war flashlights and ordinary torches could not. This would better enable them to search after dark while the rest of the Dead Horses were safely stowed away and asleep.

Remi cast his eyes down at the Pip-Boy, flicked the light on and off; exhibiting what Joshua had pointed out. He focused his eyes back up on Graham. "Fair enough, it's enough light to get around with, I guess," he replied simply, shrugging, confirming he had no quarrel with night-searching. "And for now?" He asked. There were still many more hours before the sun would be setting, Remi didn't doubt Joshua wouldn't be letting him lounge around camp for all that time.

"For now, I'm staying in camp to help organize scouting groups," he began, "and you.." he paused, "you can take Follows-Chalk out while I do so. Best not to force-feed that he won't be assisting his brothers." Despite the harshness of that statement, it came across with a certain sympathy coiling around it. Like he acknowledged that Follows-Chalk would be disappointed in his own actions even more so if he were around to see the scout groups be compiled before him. "Perhaps take him to some of the pre-war settlements around the canyon. He has a certain infatuation for those sorts of things," Joshua explained. Remi, at first, only let out a long exhale as a response. Disinterest and disappointment.

"Fine," he replied through minimally gritted teeth. He had little interest in exploring abandoned pre-war settlements himself, finding them no more special than the empty shacks and scrapyards scattering the Mojave, however he knew they would keep Chalk well distracted. Generally, the tribes avoided any areas of pre-war origin, believing them to be taboo, however Follows-Chalk never let himself fall to such ignorant customs given his deep-rooted interest in civilization.

"Try and keep him out long as you can; however, be back by sunset. I don't want to be waiting on you," Joshua prompted before turning on his heel and stepping away, toward the small hut where Follows-Chalk sat with his wounded friend, who was by now conscious. He said a few words to the young scout, made a gesture toward Remi with his hand, and Remi noticed something about Follows-Chalk immediately change. He smiled. His lips perked up into a short, charming, appreciative grin. It was no secret Chalk enjoyed traveling out into the canyon and exploring its every crevice, but.. it was still lingeringly hurtful to know Joshua wasn't letting him out of camp just out of the _kindness of his heart. _

Follows-Chalk stood, scooped up his beaten, dusty pre-war hat, secured it on his head, and practically hopped up to Remi's side from his tent. Well, at least he seemed happier now. Graham walked steadily behind him, casting a glance at Remi before walking off, back into Angel Cave. He'd find and rally most of his scouts within.

Remi turned and began to walk out of camp, making a short gesture for Chalk to follow as he went.

Chalk and Remi would wander for quite some time, bypassing small, vacant pre-war buildings in search of something one par above them. All the while during this, Remi whistled a high, obnoxious, and merry little tune. It kept him focused. It also kept him distracted from the constant silence native to the canyon; a beast he would trade for a Giant Gecko any day. Chalk, on the other hand, was quiet save for occasional times when he would make a comment on where the were in the canyon, or even redirect Remi if he were skewing off into some direction they shouldn't have been going. This only happened in rare cases, such as when Remi nearly approached a Yao Guai den.

Just about as the mid-noon sun drifted into position in the sky, Remi and Follows-Chalk saw the undistorted rooftop of a Ranger station peeking just over a hill and mound of boulders in their way. _Perfect. _Now, that area would be just.. perfect. Upon approaching the building and taking it in at closer range, they could see the settlement was still mostly intact. No broken, busted out walls, no unhinged doors or shattered windows, barely a plank or two missing from the porch.. A rare site within the unrelenting likes of Zion.

Remi turned back to face Follows-Chalk, grinning, "let's hope we like what we find inside," he mused. Remi strode up the two steps up onto the station porch. With Chalk in toe, he curled a hand over the doorknob, quickly twisting and shoving the door open, which cried as its old-world bones and hinges creaked. Remi took a step in. Quiet, thus far. No radios nor living beings. Dark. No lights. The cold, stagnant air swirling in short, slow currents around the room smelled faintly of rotting wood and long-dead animal remains. No surprise; this _was_ still Zion. However, also, it had a certain.. other.. unidentifiable foulness to it. One that Remi felt he was familiar with, however couldn't immediately recall. As a precaution, now with this in mind, Remi unholstered his .45 and held it in one hand by his side.

Remi and Chalk ventured further inside, casting their eyes about the room, taking in the empty bottles and filthy furniture scattering it as if they were its remains. Toward the back, there was even the skeleton of a young Gecko up against a wall with small, lingering pieces of flesh still rotting away from skin. That might explain the smell.. Beside it lay some unidentifiable mess of bones, blood, and innards. Remi scrunched his nose at the sight. He hoped that dead Gecko- and whatever the hell it was that was next to it- were the only animals they'd find.

Follows-Chalk noticed a closed cabinet behind a counter in the back of the station. Perhaps there was still something within it to be found, and even if there wasn't, he'd search it anyway. Chalk navigated around the trash and stains on the floor and hooked around the counter. He noted a small padlock on the cabinet upon having a closer look. He reached into one of the pockets along his utility belt and pulled out a bobby pin, then reached for the lock.

...Until a quiet, humming _rattle_ stopped him and froze his blood solid, fear clenching tight and cold in his heart. _That wasn't a Gecko._ Remi heard it as well and had brought his gun into both hands, holding it out in front of him, ready to aim and shoot. Remi's eyes darted around the room as he tried to locate the source of the rattling, which seemed to grow fiercer and fiercer in tone as seconds passed.

Only when that flurry of pale tan fur and diamond-pattered scales snapped into visibility and a loud hiss broke the stagnant air did Remi locate the rattler. Too late. It would only be revealing itself to attack. It felt like only a heartbeat's notice later that Follows-Chalk was slammed into the floorboards, a Nightstalker pinning him down by pressing its weight atop him, paws shoving into his shoulders and black lips curling over its jaws in a gut-wrenching snarl. Follows-Chalk struggled, breathing frantically, staring up at the creature. He shoved his legs up into the beast's torso with just enough force to knock it off. He managed to salvage himself enough time for him to scramble off the ground and get to his feet. However, the Stalker was quick to retaliate as it rose to its paws and sunk low to the ground on its hind legs, tail sweeping slowly behind it, and eyes locked in needle-like slivers on Chalk. Preparing to pounce.

Before the beast was given the opportunity to sink its daggers of teeth into Chalk's skin, and just as it began to lunge, a sound that made the Nightstalker's rattles but a whisper in comparison ripped through the air. A gunshot. With Remi behind the trigger.

The beast whimpered and stumbled, coughing, wheezing, gasping for air, and finally collapsing onto its side. Its chest still rose and fell with uneven gasps for a few moments longer before the bullet through its lungs drained enough blood to sap away its consciousness. Follows-Chalk, standing with his weight pressed to the counter, was taking in huge, shaky gulps of air. ..Not a surprising reaction. Nightstalkers were rare in this area; so much so that it was possible this could be the first time Follows-Chalk has ever seen one so close to taking a bite out of him.

This, however, was far from the first time for Remi. Nightstalkers were a common terror back in his home, the heart of the Mojave. Needless to say, no matter how much you see them, they never get any more fun to be around. They _do_ get easier to kill, though. Remi holstered his pistol and walked over to Chalk, stopping before the body of the dead Nightstalker. He nudged the body with the tip of his boot and cast his eyes up at Chalk, who by now was breathing a bit slower and with more ease. "Jesus, Chalk. You have got one fuckin' hell of a bad luck streak going for you," he grunted. "Let's hope we don't get Deathclaws now that we've got Yao Guai and Nightstalkers out of the way," he muttered irritably, giving the creature's body one last kick before stepping away from it, turning back to the small expanse of the Ranger Station.

Follows-Chalk exhaled slowly, steadily, and took his weight off the counter. He stumbled a bit, still being shaky, though caught his footing quickly. His eyes immediately found themselves locked onto the beast at his feet. Dead. A puddle of its own mutated blood forming around it. He felt a shiver slither down the length of his spine at the sight and forced himself to look away for fear it'd turn his stomach in some direction he didn't want it to. What an abomination of a beast; in life and in death. Chalk then sighed and turned his attention back to the cabinet he had originally sought after. ..He cringed at the sight of it. Due to Remi's gunshot, a spray of Nightstalker blood was gruesomely painted over the wood and glass in some ghastly work of art.

With fingers significantly less steady than before, Chalk pulled another bobby pin from a belt pocket. He crouched in front of the padlock sealing the cabinet shut and began toying with the lock with the pin between his fingers. Quiet metallic _clicks_ came from the mechanism as Chalk worked with it, though it wasn't until nearly a minute later than the distinctively louder _click_ that signified the lock being opened sounded off.

The padlock hit the floorboards with a_ clunk _as Chalk removed it. He then curled his fingers around the small handles of the cabinet doors and pulled it open. Slowly. The rusted hinges of the cabinet seemed to stubbornly resist and creak as they were pulled open.

Inside, the cabinet was comprised of three shelves. The first housing a box of Mentats, the second a couple boxes of Junk Food and a Stimpak, and the third.. A single book. A journal, in fact. Leatherbound. Brahmin skin, by the looks of it; and not too old, either. This being something Chalk would assume to be "pre-war knowledge," despite it not quite looking two-hundred years of age, and he took it. However, upon closer inspection, he'd find something much different than what he anticipated. Much more daunting.

Chalk flipped the journal onto the side which he hadn't seen yet and there on the cover, printed and pressed in a way that made it look branded to the leather, the sigil of Caesar's Legion.

What? What the hell?

This.. This needed to get to Joshua's eyes before anyone else's.


	5. Chapter 4

_Hello, again, everyone! I hope everybody's well n' all, and I apologize for the delay on this chapter. I've had a busy last couple weeks. The next chapter shouldn't be delayed, however, so watch out for it in two weeks.~_

* * *

However, that didn't necessarily mean it _was _going to get to Joshua's eyes first; not in the hands it'd found itself in, at least. As much guilt as it may invest in Chalk to do, he would conceal the journal from Remi before he even knew of its existence. He knew Remi would immediately take it from him and bring it straight to Joshua if he didn't. No questions asked. Chalk wouldn't even be allowed a peak on account of it probably being seen as _"confidential"._

Follows-Chalk just couldn't let that happen, considering his curiosities regarding the recent suspicions toward the Legion. If there was anything within this journal correlating with that, he had to know; whether or not he necessarily _needed_ to know.

Chalk cast a quick glance back at Remi, checking to make sure he was still preoccupied with searching the rest of the cabin, before slipping the journal into a satchel hanging off his shoulder and strewn across his chest. He then closed the cabinet and rose back to his feet, swinging back around the counter and walking over to Remi, who was busy tearing apart a shelf of empty food and drink containers. Chalk gave him a little tap on the shoulder, which nearly earned him a strike across the side of the head with the back of gun in return. Even if Remi did stop the blow from hitting its mark, Chalk still made a point to coil his fingers around Remi's wrist. Just as a precaution.

"Fuck, Chalk, don't do shit like that!" He hissed, yanking his arm away. "Next time I flinch, you might lose a couple braincells. Or maybe an eye," he grunted irritably meanwhile holstering his pistol once again, "I woulda thought Joshua taught you better than to pull stunts like that," he grumbled as he settled in front of the tribal, shoulders high, tense, and squared. Chalk brought his arms back to his sides, one hand closely holding the strap of his satchel.

"..My apologies. He has. I guess I had just disregarded that you are more easily scared than he is," Chalk replied, monotone, avoiding eye contact, and slipping a sly smile over his cheeks. The comment persuaded a passive rudeness, implying that Remi wasn't up to Joshua's extent of mental toughness. Implying he didn't have the balls. _Rude._ It made Remi's nostrils flare in a momentary scoff and he crossed his arms loosely over his chest.

"Right. Anyway, did you want something, or were you just looking for more bruises?" He was practically boiling over with enthusiasm to hear Chalk's reply. Chalk could tell by that condescending stare of his.

Follows-Chalk erected his stature and stood straight, still holding that strap tight against him. "Yeah- uh- yes." He cleared his throat. "I think we should start walking back to camp," at that Remi furrowed his brows and Chalk broke eye contact with him, casting his dark brown irises out the cabin window. "..By the looks of it, the sun will be setting soon. Joshua will not be happy if we return after dark," he explained. As smooth and even as his tone stayed, there was still that small, undeniable touch of nervous highness to it. The underlying doubt that Remi would see through his act.

Remi took a look out the window himself. Well, Chalk was right.. And after all, Joshua _did_ tell him to be back in camp before sundown. He sighed. "..Yeah." He moseyed past Chalk, who followed after him as he headed for the door. As they exited and let the door shut behind them, Remi took a glance back at Follows-Chalk. "Stay close, and no more tapping my goddamn shoulder," he puffed.

Their walk back to camp was as slow as it was painfully quiet, and they didn't reach Angel Cave 'till just before sunset. All the while, Chalk holding that satchel strap like it meant his life.

As they reemerged into camp, Remi and Chalk broke off from each other as Chalk made for Angel Cave and Remi for Joshua, who stood in the center of camp with arms crossed over his chest, eyes already boring down on him. His patience was probably shortening by now. Remi made it back only minutes before the sun sank below the Eastern Virgin, and thus only mere minutes before Joshua would've considered his arrival late.

"You took longer than necessary," he voiced as Remi strode up and stopped in front of him. At which comment Remi scoffed and rolled his eyes. Joshua didn't appreciate that response, however didn't respond much to it himself. "I said to be back before sundown, not during," he stated, this time with more assertiveness, as well as a brief displeased shake of his head.

Remi dismissed the initial comment. "For somebody who _counts their blessings,_ you sure bitch a whole lot, Josh," he sneered, brows furrowed. God, he was always so irritated by how Joshua required near everything to be complying flawlessly to his standards. ..Guess it was a control thing. Maybe an obsession with organization. Either way, it was a common habit of Joshua's which Remi didn't favor very highly.

Joshua only huffed a sigh through his nose before he spoke again. "..In any case, we would best be heading out now. I've no interesting in idling around any longer," he said, then shouldered past Remi, shooting him a quick glance as he went, as to demand he follow along without the use of verbal encouragement. Remi, of course, followed. No matter how he felt, if Joshua wanted him to come along, hell, he'd come along. It wasn't often Joshua and him spent time around one another, let alone assist one another in goals such as staking out Legionaries. ..Plus, Remi didn't want to aggravate Josh any further.

After Remi and Joshua had left camp and started on their path down the Grand Staircase, Follows-Chalk nestled himself in a secluded corner of Angel Cave, tucked between the split in a rock formation. He sat cross-legged, satchel by his side, and leatherback journal open in his lap. The Legion journal he'd found in the ranger station. He flicked through the pages, expression growing more and more perplexed as he went.

He wasn't- he couldn't- read a single page, much to his confusion. Chalk could read English.. He knew the language fairly well, in fact, but these letters and words before him.. He couldn't read them. He couldn't understand why he couldn't, either. These letters and patterns seemed familiar, but, nevertheless, they seemed as if they were written in some foreign language. Characters he knew were organized in strange, new strings of text.

Perhaps.. Perhaps that was something that had to do with this book's particular origin. ..Was this book written in_ Latin?_ Chalk always knew of the Legion's obsession with the long-dead culture, but he had no idea all ranks of the Legion commonly knew to write the language- or were even literate at all. Then again, maybe this wasn't the journal of just some mundane recruit.. It was all too unfortunate he couldn't read it and find out such things. It occurred to him that Joshua may be able to, given his former stature in the Legion.. Chalk flinched at that thought; the thought of handing the journal over to Graham and facing the evident consequences of having concealed it from him. Chalk decided he would just settle with things as they were.

Despite not being capable of reading a single word, he still progressed through the pages. There still may be something of value, and otherwise, he had his own curiosity driving him forward. Upon nearing the end and flicking through the last few pages, something caught his eye. Froze the natural action of his hand turning the page.

A name. A frighteningly, dauntingly familiar name. Written just at the bottom of the page, beside an alias.

Joshua Graham. The Burned Man.

"Can you stop that?" Low, irritable, and gruff. That was how Joshua's voice came across. As always. Joshua glared at Remi, eyes repeatedly swapping between his face and his Pip-Boy. For the last minute or two, Remi had started idly flicking the light on and off as they walked along a shallow, however wide riverside, which quickly got onto Joshua's nerves as it obstructed his vision in the darkness around them. Remi raised his eyebrows and mocked the displeased expression he guessed Joshua would have made, mouthing his words back at him. He took his hand away from the Pip-Boy and held the device on his wrist out, illuminating the ground in front of them, as Joshua wanted.

"Not like we're gonna bump into anything," Remi grumbled back at him as he continued to walk along, leading the way so that Joshua had a clear, lit path to walk through. "It's been at least a couple'a hours and all that's happened was I nearly lost my fuckin' balance."

Joshua scoffed. "You "nearly" tripped on a rock. A small one, at that." _Oh, _well that was a particularly snarky thing to say for Joshua.. Maybe his very tolerance for Remi was thinning, or maybe his speech was simply becoming more comfortable and less proper- by his own standards- around Remi. Either way, it rendered Joshua wittier than usual. Remi wasn't quite sure how he felt about that yet.

Remi furrowed his brows and huffed. "Cause to effect, Josh. Whatever." He'd pick up his pace, forcing Joshua to do the same. Joshua made a little grunt, but other than that, gave no opposition. "Anyhow, I doubt we're gonna find jack shit along the water. I think we should-"

"If you suggest another Yao Guai den, I'm ripping that Pip-Boy off your arm and leading the way for the rest of the night," he grumbled. Remi furrowed his brows. He'd only suggested that _once_ earlier this evening. And it was most definitely a legitimate idea; a Yao Guai cave would make a fantastic hiding spot, so long as you didn't get mauled by the mutated bears themselves.

"Don't assume so much,_ Legate,_" he retorted, "..I think we should search around the old White Leg camps. I mean- to your tribe, those places are sorta like ghost towns. Nobody ever goes around 'em, so why wouldn't the Legionaries tuck 'emselves out in there? Maybe they used them as temporary camps?" He asked, shrugging and glancing back at Joshua, as if searching for acceptance or refusal of his proposal. He saw little change in his expression, other than a loss in eye contact. However, if he had to guess, Joshua would have little interest in returning to former White Leg settlements, especially their base camp where Joshua executed Salt-Upon-Wounds. Sore memories lingered around those areas. Sore memories which he would not like to reanimate.

As much as Joshua would like to refuse Remi for the sake of avoiding White Leg encampments, he was painfully aware there was a likelihood of Legion having passed through them at some point. "..Perhaps. Let's continue down this pass until we reach the Ant Burrows, and if we still find nothing by the time we reach there.." He took a pause and sighed, "we'll begin toward Three Marys." Joshua cast a glance away and over the rock and soil ahead of them, toward the moon as it arched over high canyon walls; in the direction of former White Leg territory. He felt a pull of reluctance press onto his chest at the very thought of exploring those war grounds once again.

Remi slowed his quickened pace to something more relaxed now that he'd gotten a satisfactory answer out of Joshua. "Glad you're seeing things from my perspective," he mumbled, continuing onward, pacing himself as he sauntered along the riverside with Joshua at his heels.

From their place on the Eastern Virgin to the Ant Burrows wasn't a very long trek, around a half hour at the pace they were going at most. ..And, as expected, nothing happened and nor did they discover anything new on that short walk. Absolutely baffling- the Legion didn't leave careless traces of their passing through Zion along the riverside. Remi swirled around on his heel to face Joshua, now beginning to walk backwards. "You still gonna hold up your word?" He asked, quirking a brow, referring to the agreement on exploring White Legs territory.

Joshua passed a brief, inward sigh through his nose. "…I'm always a man of my word," he replied. Short and to the point, however still far from snarky or disrespectful; per expectation of Joshua. He noticed a short-lived grin perk on Remi's cheek, obviously pleased by Joshua's compliance.

"Oh, how I know you are," he replied quickly and whimsically, in tone, before turning back around and continuing to walk, now facing the direction in which he was headed. Joshua kept closely behind, eyes gluing themselves to the black and white _Kings_ logo on the back of Remi's leather jacket to keep him headed in the right direction and to keep his mind temporarily off of their eventual destination.

It felt as if it were barely a minute to Joshua before Remi was stopped, shining his Pip-Boy light ahead onto the beaten, scratched wooden signs before a narrow canyon that read _"Three Marys"_. By now, all natural light aside from that of the moon had escaped Zion, leaving all but what was lit by Remi's device enveloped in an inky, cobalt-black darkness. Although this darkness was familiar to Joshua, and he had traveled through it many times before, tonight it felt especially pressuring with the thought of having to traverse White Leg territory with it alongside him.

Remi glanced back at Joshua, then gestured to the path ahead with a flick of his chin, "you ready?" Joshua was already beginning to press forward.

"Do I need to be asked?" He questioned, glaring at Remi. A touch of weariness and concern lingered in that short-lived stare of his. Before Joshua could walk far enough ahead of Remi to lose the light of his Pip-Boy, he reached back and grabbed Remi's extended hand, the one with the device strapped to its wrist, then sharply tugging him to his side. This made Remi stumble, nearly falling if it weren't for Joshua's grasp.

"Jesus, you can just _ask _me to speed up!" He hissed.

"You wouldn't have complied as well." Joshua let go of Remi's hand and continued his course, standing solid and tall beside his companion. Calm, in appearance. As always. Remi eyed Joshua for a few moments longer before he made a quiet huff and faced ahead. He grit his teeth at the sight ahead of him.

Nothing. Accommodated by yet more nothingness.

Outside of the range his little light reached, everything was as dark and as thick as pre-war ink. The shadows of the canyon paired with the natural darkness of night rendered Three Marys a surrealistically dark, ominous place. Eventually, Remi's eyes grew tired and sore from staring into a pitch black canvas for so long, and changed to watching his and Joshua's feet move on the ground below them; which was close enough to his Pip-Boy to be sufficiently lit. He did this so that his eyes could rest and focus on something visible to him, and so that he didn't trip on any rubble. Whereas Joshua beside him still just stared ahead. Of course, Joshua was better suited to be doing so - someone like him, who's lived here for so long, is incredibly unlikely to do something as foolish as trip on a rock.

A couple more yards of walking, a couple more twists and turns through the narrow passage, Remi and Joshua still walked side by side, sharing Remi's small light. Remi eventually began to doze off into a trance of following the synchronized patterns of his and Josh's footsteps, even going as far as counting the seconds between left foot to right foot.

One. Only one second, and it never changed. Not once. Somehow, despite that, he continued to count. There was some odd appeal and satisfaction in following something that likely could vary, however never did. That consistency was.. pleasant. He continued to watch their feet, numbers ticking by in his head. Only two numbers: one and two. One for left, two for right.

_"One, two, one, two, one, two, one..-"_

A loud thump, a coinciding gasp, and the sound of gravel crunching beneath a solid weight intruded on Remi's thoughts. Then faint, muttered curses. ..A sudden interruption in Remi's counting. He missed two. He was forced to stop, break focus from his feet and…

Joshua's feet. Which, speaking on, they were no longer by his. Not from the position of Joshua standing, at least.

Before he even had the time to reel over the information in his head, a hand lifted up and tapped- smacked- against Remi's thigh, effectively stopping him. "Could you bother helping me up?"

Did Joshua-

No. There was no way.

….

He did.

Joshua tripped. Fell down. He made the sort of mistake _Remi_ would've made.

Remi aimed his Pip-Boy light on Joshua, who was still on his back, one elbow dug into the ground while the other arm was outstretched, hand reaching for what he hoped to be Remi's. The Courier caught a glint of Joshua's gray-blue eyes with the light, which already reflected his aggravation with this situation he'd put himself in. Remi grinned before grabbing Josh's hand with his own and pulling, easily hoisting Joshua to his feet. Once he let go, Joshua briefly wiped the dust and pebbles from his clothes and shot a glare at Remi, who wore the most amused grin over his cheeks. This one was similar to that he wore while they smoked together; it pushed at his cheeks so much it charmingly tipped his mustache.

"Guess you can't hold anything against me anymore, Josh," he teased, then took a glance around the area upon which they stood. He looked back up at Joshua, "and, y'know, I don't even see any rocks! Guess you tripped over your own feet."

Joshua grumbled. "Not likely. Probably an empty bottle or otherwise junk that rolled away when I hit it. Those sorts of things are common in this part of Zion, as the White Legs were notorious for improperly discarding garbage." Remi's grin only grew wider. Such excuses..

"I'll just take your word for that," he snorted sarcastically, then began walking again, returning his Pip-Boy clad arm to facing out in front of them. Joshua drew in a long inhale, as to tame an urge to bark at Remi for his rudeness, and settled back in at his side. If Remi weren't so dependable in his work efforts, Joshua would likely trade him for another traveling partner in a heart-beat. But, alas, Remi was his only trustworthy ally with abilities suitable for his quest, and thus his _only_ traveling partner.

As the two progressed further into the canyon, they reached the battle-torn land where Joshua and Remi fought through hoards of White Legs, only to be separated by a collection of sandstone collapsing and blocking what would've been Joshua's path to the entrance of the caverns. Now that they were returning and the path was still blocked, they would both have to travel the route around the cavern; the one which Joshua had taken so many months ago. This path was longer and didn't go through the cavern itself, but rather went around it, however it also lead to the grounds where Salt-Upon-Wounds was slain, as well as to a secondary "back entrance" to the caves.

Upon arriving in the cove-like clearing, Joshua stepped away from Remi and now stood in front of him, taking longer, slower steps and taking in the entirely of this withered, broken place. He could see the entire area clearly, in an eery white glow, as Remi's light ricochet off the narrow walls. In the center of the hollow lie a boulder, stained and bloody, with a skeleton leaning against it, hand to its White Leg armor-clad chest. It lay in a position as if it were pressing its weight to the stone, using it to hold it up in its last moments. Dry blood, deep and pungent crimson in color, trailed from just behind the base of the body's back onto the dry soil beneath it, as if it had sustained a terribly bleeding, seeping wound. Joshua had stopped moving completely at the sight of it. He recognized the corpse, even without its flesh. Salt-Upon-Wounds.

Remi stepped up to his side, glancing between Graham and the long-since-picked bones. He cleared his throat, as to catch Josh's attention. "it's sorta like an omen, y'know," he began. Joshua remained quiet and still; aside from his fingers, which flexed in tight fists, nails digging into his palms. "How his goal was to destroy and conquer anything and everything. He took that goal so far, he ended up doin' it to himself," he said, taking a pause as he drew in a breath, "..And it's an omen, 'cause that's exactly what Caesar's doin'," Joshua's head turned and he fixed his eyes on Remi, "and one day he'll destroy himself, too." His eyes returned to the corpse.

"You're right," and with that, he left Remi's side to crouch next to the bones. He pushed them away from the boulder, careful enough not to break its fragile form as he did so. He began shifting the sand under where the bones used to lie, breaking the thin layer of dried blood atop it. "It was God's plan to see Salt-Upon-Wounds lead himself to his own failure," he said, "I believe his plans for Edward cannot be much different. Only.." He paused, "Edward- _Caesar-_ is twice the evil that Salt-Upon-Wounds was. He, his evil, will lead others to destruction with him." By now Remi had moved to stand over Joshua, watching as he moved stone and sand. Eventually, he uncovered pieces of charred wood, alongside ash-stained stones. Pieces of a long-dead campfire. Joshua picked up a piece of burnt wood in his hand, rubbing it between his pointer finger and thumb until it crumbled and left the bandages around his hand blackened. "Others such as myself. Your omen condemns me to burn at his hand once again."

Remi's brows lowered and his lip twitched. "That's _ridiculous_," he replied, surprisingly defensive. "Whatever brings Caesar to his defeat, it will be _his_ defeat. Maybe his fucking cult's, too, but not yours," he said, speaking quicker, subtly frantic. "why-" he gestured his hands out in front of him, palms wide open, expressing disbelief, "why the hell would it be yours, too? If it's anything, it should be your _victory_!"

Joshua closed his eyes and shook his head. He straightened his posture, still crouched on the ground next to the boulder. He reopened his eyes, fixating them on Remi, "because I could have prevented the evil that became Caesar." At those few words, Remi's mouth shut and his hands froze where they were. There was nothing he could say. But, nevertheless, he still thought Joshua was wrong. Joshua was not truly an evil man, nor was the blame for Caesar's rise to power at his hands, and his hands alone.

Before a quiet tension could build between them, Remi crouched down beside Joshua, who had resumed digging up the buried campfire. His expression had reduced to something particularly blank, unreadable. He intended that, had done it intentionally. He didn't want Joshua to see his irritation and aggressive disbelief toward Joshua's point of view of his "omen". Remi fixed his sapphire blues on Joshua. "What're you.. uh.. doing?"

"Salt-Upon-Wounds;" he began slowly, meanwhile still recovering pieces of blackened wood, "his corpse was moved." Joshua spoke as if he knew this for certain, "I recall his death near perfectly. He didn't fall on the boulder- nor crawl to it- and he didn't die by bleeding to death," his tone grew deeper and sharper as he spoke, "he died immediately. By a bullet. _My_ bullet," an underlying growl was developing in his voice now, "I remember he fell onto nothing but dirt. Not a single stone involved." He paused, placing his eyes on an ashy stone which he'd picked up in his hand. "He was moved in order to cover something." He turned the stone in his palm. "This." He dropped the stone back into the dirt.

Remi blinked, confused. "A.. campfire?" His brows furrowed and he flicked his gaze to the boulder, then back at Joshua. "But Salt's blood is on the stone; you saw it. How would-"

"It's staged." Joshua lifted his hand and set his fingertips to the dried blood on the rock. "This hasn't been here near as long as Salt-Upon-Wounds has been dead. Blood that's been exposed to the air for more than a damned year wouldn't look like it could've been spilled this week." Joshua took his hands away from the stone and returned them to the dirt, shuffling around, digging deeper. "…The question is; a campfire for whom, and hidden by whom.." He trailed off, lifting his hand back out of the remains of the fire. He had a look upon his face that said he knew the answer to his question. Something was clasped in his hand now. A necklace; a pendant hanging from a thin metal chain.

The pendant was a round, bronze-gold colored medallion. Remi focused on it as it turned back and forth at the end of the chain which it danged from, brought his Pip-Boy light up to it. In the center of the medallion, a bull stood, ready to charge.

The Bull; the emblem of The Legion. This was a covered Legionary scout camp. Scouts, specifically, because anyone of higher rank would not have made such a fatal error. This much was obvious. Though, nevertheless, it was uncommon for the Legion to make any such mistakes regardless.

Joshua couldn't have experienced a stronger mixture of satisfaction, revelation, and anger. He rose to his feet, hand still tightly clenching the pendant in his hands. He help it up high enough so that the pendant was level with his eyes. He stared at it. Furious. He drew in a long, harsh breath before lowering the necklace back and looking to Remi, who was rising to his feet beside him.

"You were right." He spoke low, through what were practically gritted teeth, "they tried to hide right under my fucking nose." The hand holding the pendant jerked, tensing around the chain, fingers flexing. "They tried to use my own weakness against me," he muttered. Joshua looked away. He sighed, slumping his shoulders. "..I suppose that's why you're here, though, and that's why I need you here." He forced his hand to relax, taming veins in his arm that'd risen. "You don't have my weaknesses, and nor do I yours. Were you not here, and I was left to only myself and my men, I never would have found this.." he paused, "this proof that I _knew _the Legion was on my land."

This revelation would put Remi at higher cost to Joshua, and of more significance. It seemed Remi was no longer such an easily replaced companion, now that Joshua knew him to be not only trustworthy, but a healthy contrast from himself. Now, if only he weren't leaving in only a few days..


	6. Chapter 5

_Welcome to chapter 5, I'm glad we've already made it this far! This chapter's a little shorter than the previous ones, though I can promise the chapters to follow will be far from short. I'm excited to say we're getting close to what I hope is the most interesting bits._

_Thanks for reading!_

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The morning following Joshua and Remi's excursion was quite the unbearable one. Joshua roamed camp with a constant look of thoughtful anger upon his face; a look dripping with an ache for vengeance. Similar to the one he wore while fighting through the White Leg invasion of Zion. Whereas, Remi stayed slumped over, unkept, and draining away a pack of cigarettes in Joshua's cut-off of Angel Cave. Follows-Chalk hadn't been seen all morning. A couple of the other tribals mentioned he'd went out with a scouting group to the other end of the Eastern Virgin earlier this morning, however. No one knew when he'd come back.

Joshua paced just outside the entrance of Angel Cave, necklace chain coiled around his hand while the bull pendant itself was clenched in his palm. He hadn't set the thing down since he'd found it. Not that anyone had tried to take it from him, but nevertheless, he kept a tight grip on that poor, inanimate thing as if he expected it'd leap out of his hand if he didn't. Each of his men avoided Graham for the time being, as they were familiar with this _mood_ of his. They knew well enough not to bother him while he was in it.

Remi, who was still inside the cave, sat at Joshua's desk. He was leaned over it, elbows propped against the table, both hands in front of his mouth. One hand held another cigarette to his lips, the other held a silver lighter under it. He sighed at the first wisp of smoke rising and fading into the dry air, then replaced the lighter in a pocket. The pocket, for once, not being one of his leather jacket. He'd taken it off and set it, folded sloppily, on the edge of Joshua's desk. This left his upper-body with only a dingy, gray-white shirt. How uncharacteristic. He looked a mess this way; shoulders absent of that familiar black leather, position far from erect, unshaven, spilling rolls of smoke into the air, and dark chocolate locks a ruffled mess atop his head. He hadn't slept last night. Hadn't had the opportunity to. Hadn't wanted to.

"I don't appreciate you filling the entire cave with smoke, you know." Remi's head jerked up at the sudden voice breaking his silence, alert, eyes directed to the entrance. Joshua stood in the passageway, arms crossed over his chest. "You should bring that outside," he said, giving a gesture behind him with a nod of his head. Remi's head dipped back down and a short grin perked at his lips. Was that Joshua's way of inviting him outside for, what, another cigarette and a talk? Hopefully this one wouldn't end in throwing punches, in which case. Remi took his cigarette from his mouth and to his fingers, exhaling a thick stream of smoke. He ran his free hand through his hair, pushing locks away from his forehead before he stood from Josh's desk.

"I didn't think you minded the smell of smoke anymore," he scoffed as walked around the desk, grabbing a half-empty pack of cigarettes and shoving them in his back pocket as he did so. Remi walked across the room to Joshua and grinned particularly modestly to him.

"It's bad for the lungs."

"Right. You give a damn about that now."

Joshua scoffed and gave a slow, brief shake of his head. Remi noticed his eyes squint and cheeks perk ever-so slightly. He'd smiled behind those concealing bandages of his. "I always have, Remi. You make me stop giving a damn."

"So, I'm kind of like lung cancer?"

"Exactly like lung cancer." At that, Remi gave a little chuckle and Joshua turned to begin walking out of the room, Remi following closely behind, cigarette replaced between his lips. They walked a short distance away from the cave after they rose from it, eventually ending in the center of camp, setting themselves around a cold, dormant campfire which the tribals generally used for cooking and warmth after sundown. Remi sat with his legs bent at the knees, hands hanging overtop his knees while his wrists rested against them. Joshua sat beside him, cross-legged, hands in his lap. One hand still had that necklace wrapped around it.

Remi pulled a cigarette from the pack he'd grabbed, gestured it toward Joshua. "Want one?" Joshua shook his head.

"Not today. Wouldn't want to replace the bandages again this early." Remi nodded, shrugged, replaced the item, and returned to smoking his own. Not too long before his would be out. He glanced over at Graham from his position on the ground, craning his neck to take a peak at his neatly folded hands. He just barely caught the glint of bronze-y metal contrasting against white bandages that confirmed Joshua still had the pendant. He'd expected as much.

"Did you have anything like that while you were, y'know, still in the Legion?" He asked, knowing Joshua would know exactly what he was referring to.

He paused. "Yes, but not exactly like this," he said, lifting the hand with the necklace and letting the pendant hang from an inch or two of loose chain off his hand. "This belonged to someone of a lower stature in the legion. A recruit. Maybe a courier," he said, eyes fixated on the medallion. "The medal a Legate wears bears a different crest; not of the bull, but of Caesar himself. Perhaps, if the Legate has made such an impact to've earned it, his own self." Remi nodded, listening with an obvious curiosity. He found Joshua's past as the former Legate and co-founder of The Legion fascinating. It was like talking to Joshua about a completely different person who he had a seemingly endless knowledge of.

"Did your pendant have your face on it, then?" He asked. He wondered, if what Joshua said was true, did Lanius have his face or Caesar's on a medal? He'd resist asking, given his knowledge of Joshua's distaste for the Legion's acting Legate.

"It did," he replied, "I've since lost the pendant. Didn't care for it enough to keep track of it, nor what it stood for. However, I would not be surprised if the Legion has used my face again since my exile; as a mark of shame." Joshua spoke about the subject of the Legion's attitude toward him as if it didn't bother him in even the least. Perhaps it was just insignificant to him now, perhaps his indifference was an act. At his words, Remi looked away and gave a short nod. It felt wrong in Remi's mind: how the Legion regarded Joshua, even if Joshua himself didn't seem to mind it. It felt to him as if an entire cult of hundreds was looking at a single man from a unanimous wrong perspective. A wrong perspective fed to their minds by their manipulative tyrant king.

"The Legion doesn't know shame," Remi added in Joshua's defense. Joshua's brows furrowed and he gave a light scoff.

"I disagree. The foundation upon which a Legionary is built is made up of shame. Shame, fear, and obedience." Joshua turned to face Remi, who was blowing one last river of smoke into the breeze before he dropped his cigarette butt into the dirt and crushed it under the toe of his boot. "What the Legion doesn't know is humility."

Remi lifted his chin. "How do you figure?"

"The Legion sees themselves as those who work under a divine, powerful being, and thus find themselves to have more worth than any other person, ghoul, or mutant in the Wasteland that doesn't share in their _greater belief_. They lack humility. Their leader lacks humanity." As Remi listened, he noticed Joshua's tone lower with a faint growl. Likely one of disgust.

"Did you.." He paused, hesitated, as Joshua lifted his gaze and made flawless eye contact with him. "Did you lack humanity when you were Legate, like Caesar?" Just like that, once again, his slate blue eyes were lost.

"I can only hope he and I no longer share that trait, Rem," he admitted. They fell into silence beyond those words. Remi's eyes fixed on the overcast sky, occasionally glancing over at his companion, who had closed his eyes. He was still awake, however. His hand still moved over that pendant in his hand, thumb rubbing over the smooth metal. After around twenty minutes of silence slipped through the palms of both men, Remi cleared his throat to speak. Joshua's eyes opened to narrow slits.

"Three more days, y'know," he mumbled. When Joshua's eyes focused on Remi, his eyes were gazing up at the soft, thick clouds overhead. Joshua knew what Remi was speaking of. Three more days until he was leaving Zion for New Vegas.

"Three more days 'till I have to tolerate your absence for a week, and thus have all work put on hold for a week," Joshua passed a short sigh. "Be sure it's only a week, otherwise I'll have to bruise your jaw again. You know I don't like it when you're late, nor do I want to have to compensate." Remi grinned scoffed a chuckle.

"_Tolerate it_.. You'll find it's a week off," he paused, glancing over at Joshua, "and it means no more smoke in your damn room." He grinned. "When am I ever late?" Joshua furrowed his brows.

"Fine. Then don't return on time by just the skin of your teeth."

Remi nodded. "I'd even bet I'll make it back a day early," he said, smile broadening. Joshua couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"I can only pray you're not as bad a gambler as I suspect," he poked, sending a surprisingly friendly glance to his counterpart, who huffed and lifted his chin. Pretending to be offended, though the grin on his cheeks made the aspect of pretend obvious.

"I've placed more winning bets than you'd think, Josh."

Their week from there on out was as slow as it was daunting. Little happened during the day, and now that Joshua had that pendant as his evidence of Legion presence in Zion, he stayed in camp for almost every hour of each day. Which, by extension, kept Remi in camp for just as long. Remi would meander around camp, gathering and preparing his things for his departure, while Joshua prepared for his week of what he expected to be an unbearable lack of progress. The two of them would cross paths on occasion, exchange words, share meals with the other tribals, but little else happened between the two for the remainder of the week. They were both subconsciously avoiding any significant conversations or actions happening between themselves, on account of Remi having to up and leave in only a few days. Wouldn't want to start anything if you knew you couldn't finish it.

Three days passed. The day of Remi's departure from Zion.

Remi stirred inside Angel Cave, awkwardly shuffling into a white t-shirt in the pitch black of morning before sunrise. He got his arm stuck in the wrong hole, had the shirt turned backwards, and had too many wrinkles in the fabric to count. Guess he wasn't much of a morning person. After he managed to slip on his shirt and smooth it down over his belt, he threw his leather jacket over his shoulders in a swift, smooth, practiced motion. At least he could do that without any lights on. He fixed the collar, fixed his hair, then lifted his Pip-Boy up to his eyes. The screen lit his face with a soft green glow, and he turned the dial on the side to flip through the pages. Checked his status. No crippled limbs, well fed and hydrated, no acute radiation.. All fit to travel. Remi let his arm fall by his side. He glanced around the cavity of the cave he stood in, peeking around to where Joshua lie to check if he still slept. He did.

Remi sighed through his nose. Leaving, no matter if alone or with others, was never an easy task for him. He figured it would be best to leave without the good grace of goodbyes. He began walking out of the cave. The caravan that would be taking him back home was scheduled to reach Zion at approximately 6:00AM, so it was that reason why he had the opportunity to wake early and leave Dead Horse camp without so much as a nod of his head, much less a proper goodbye. He wouldn't stop as he walked through camp, just made his way out in quiet and in peace. The only sound filling his ears was that of the sand and rock crunching beneath his boots.

"I would've thought you had more integrity than to leave in the middle of the night." Remi froze in his steps. He lowered his head, closed his eyes, and made a soft, defeated sigh. He should've known Joshua wasn't going to let him just slip out without a word said.

He stood still and only tilted his head, glancing back at Joshua, who stood a few feet out of the cave entrance. He lacked his bandages, his black vest, and his rattlesnake boots and belt. Only a white three-quarters buttoned shirt and those torn up jeans of his. "It's _technically_ morning," he retorted back. A short, sad grin quirked at his lips. Joshua stepped further from the cave entrance, eventually ending at Remi's side. By the look on his face, Remi could tell Joshua didn't like his leaving, either.

"It's three in the morning, Remi. It's night," he insisted, monotone. Silence overtook them for only a few moments. "I don't know why you would expect I wouldn't notice you leaving." Remi huffed.

"I guess you never have been the type," he mumbled. "At least I made an attempt." Joshua scoffed at him in return and pat his shoulder.

"At least you did- and failed. I suppose it tells me how little of an impact you'd wish to leave, even though if you had left without a goodbye, it would have affected us more," he said, tone lowering and taking on an unfamiliar smoothness.

"..Right. Look, I just don't like goodbyes."

"And I respect your views. I share them, in fact. But, nevertheless, it's low even for you to leave in a manner no different than the thief slipping out the back window when his partner isn't looking. Especially, granted, I don't even know why exactly you're leaving."

"Wow, don't make me feel any better, Josh." Joshua lifted his chin and rolled his shoulders. He wasn't apologetic in the least for his crude comparison.

"Mmh. Like goodbyes or not, you should still take the time to make them. I've learned through my life that you never know when you'll be able to say such things again." Remi felt a weight settle on his chest. Was Joshua implying that one day one of their farewells like this would be their last? ..Well.. Of course, that was inevitable, no one lives forever, but it was something Remi had never thought about before. He didn't want to think about it.

Remi turned to be face-to-face with Joshua. He stood silent for a moment, drew in a long inhale. "..Goodbye, Josh," he said. The two exchanged a brief dip of the head and moment of eye contact. Remi turned to begin walking out of camp. "Keep Chalk out of trouble."

Remi's venture back to New Vegas felt as if it were weeks slower than his trip to Zion, with much on his mind to weigh down and draw out his thoughts, though it felt just as good when it ended, and even better to have his feet sink back into familiar Mojave sand. He was released back into the Mojave where he'd first started this journey: at the Northern Passage. He retrieved his stowed gear and began his way across the desert landscape. Past New Vegas itself, in fact. That wasn't his real destination on this trip. No, he had come back on a specific agenda that drew him past the old-world border of Nevada, and into that of Arizona. Across the Colorado.

Now hours into his return to his homeland, Remi walked along an ages old boardwalk, armor-clad men standing guard on all sides, and one waiting for him in a small boat ahead. As he stepped into the boat, the ferryman gave a nod of his head and uttered one short sentence in ritualistic greeting.

"Ave, true to Caesar." Remi would remain silent and only nod back in return. It would feel like needles piercing his tongue, were he to return those words.

This place.. This awful place, the home of the Legion, felt all the more daunting with Joshua and his involvement with The Burned Man's affairs in mind. The only thing keeping his mind out of a complete nervous slur was the constant reminder that his presence here was solely business, while his presence around Joshua was more than that. He stepped past the large wooden gates of The Fort with cautious steps. He knew each and every man here would have his head on a pike before Caesar were they to know of the man he considered an ally and a friend. Remi made certain that he didn't make eye contact with a single soul as he passed through camp. He evaded the eyes of even the highest ranked soldiers in the Legion, such as Vulpes and Lucius. Those two especially could see right through the unease he hid behind his solid, blank expression.

After having been granted permission, Remi passed through the curtain concealing Caesar's personal tent. His stomach felt like it was twisting around in tight knots as he approached the tyrant, sitting pretty on his throne. He stopped at the fraud son of Mars' feet.

"I appreciate your effort to keep to my tight schedule. Our last source of _help_ was days late," Caesar sighed, "he is no longer holding any ties with the Legion, though I'm sure you would've assumed that already."

"I imagine. Your time does not need to be wasted, does it?" What an appeaser Remi could make himself in order to keep a raging bull at bay. This, and this alone, was his sole reason for taking work from the Legion. He needed to keep a positive reputation with the union of barbarians in order to maintain balance throughout the Mojave and for himself. A negative impression with the Legion would mean a world of misery for Remi and all who he knew, which was something he didn't want. He'd keep the Legion as far from his allies as he could, while he could.

"No," he made a gesture toward Vulpes, who stood by his side in a perfect soldier-grade stature. "Vulpes has your assignment ready, I expect you'll have it done as requested." Remi nodded and looked to the unsettling Frumentarii fox, whose eyes were invisible behind fitting black goggles.

Vulpes nodded briefly in greeting, however his expression remained the same. Cold. Emotionless. "I had sent a Frumentarii of mine to collect a_ package_ of sorts off a weapon supplier in Freeside," he explained, "that same Frumentarii came to betray us and made off with our package for himself. As far as I know, he is still in Freeside somewhere.." Vulpes' tone lowered, "I want him found and I want him killed. He isn't to be spared an execution; I only want his life ended as soon as possible. Then, bring the package back to us." He paused, stared dead into Remi's eyes. Remi could just barely make out his irises past dark lenses. "In the case you do the same this profligate did, we will have you not killed, but caught and strewn up onto a cross, then set ablaze for all to watch. Are my instructions understood?"

"Clear as day." With that, Vulpes turned his head. This was his silent means of dismissing Remi, which Remi responded to with walking out of Caesar's tent without another word.

As Joshua had once said, he considered killing just a chore when done righteously. Remi wished he could convince himself this assigned task was nothing more than a chore; one that didn't challenge his loyalties, at that.

Back in Zion, Remi's _loyalties_ sat atop one of the cliffs enclosing Dead Horse camp, near the highest point of camp. He flipped the Legion pendant in his hand, watching the sun set over the canyon he called home; watching as if he were the self-proclaimed guard of this place and its people.


	7. Chapter 6

_Hello, everybody! I'm glad to say in compensation for last update's short chapter, here's a nice long one. - Now, that being said, I know it **is** a lot of reading, but this is a very important chapter. After you've read it, you'll also get to see why I'm very, very excited for writing chapter 7! _

_Hope you guys enjoy!_

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As the sun disappeared behind the golden canyon walls of Zion, it dawned on Joshua that this marked the beginning of an empty, uneasy week. He sighed and stood from where he sat, taking in one last long inhale as he overlooked the expanse of his home. After which, he'd return to the lower, main part of camp resting on the riverside. In camp, the Dead Horses were beginning to gather and prepare for sleep as they returned from their assigned scouting duties. As far as Joshua knew, no more Legionaries had been spotted thus far. Actually, as far as he knew, little to nothing had been spotted since before and after Remi had left Zion. No Yao Guai, Geckos, Spore Carriers, Raiders... Nothing. It was as if all of Zion had decided to fall dormant. To Joshua, it was unsettling.

After night had fully overtaken the valley and Joshua retreated to Angel Cave, he found he couldn't sleep, but rather remain awake with swirling thoughts keeping his mind far from at ease. All he could do was stare at his ceiling and think. Lying still, with the exception of that rusty bronze pendant turning between his fingers. Joshua's mind busied itself with trying to connect dots and hypothesize pieces to the puzzle that was currently occupying the place of his mind that was his life. Pieces, namely, outlining the reason for the Legion pendant being left so carelessly in an abandoned campsite, or what business Remi had left Zion on, or why Follows-Chalk cared so much for the matter of the Legionaries, or, hell, why _he_ cared so much for a threat that hadn't even deemed itself a threat yet.

Eventually, far into the night, Joshua did fall asleep. Only out of exhaustion, however, rather than an actual desire to rest. The short of amount of sleep he undertook was hardly significant, as only a couple hours following, he'd have to rise and awake with the morning sun as he always did. As much as he needed sleep, Joshua wasn't willing to let himself break out of daily routine.

Approximately 6AM, the first day after Remi's departure. Joshua took longer than usual getting dressed and rewrapping his bandages, which seemed not to be done quite as pristinely as usual. Little pieces of loose bandage, a shirt button left undone, collar left just slightly askew.. All terribly uncharacteristic for him. Product of his exhaustion, more than likely. Joshua had noticeable dark circles beneath his red-marbled eyes to match his unkempt clothes. Supporting evidence to his exhaustion. All of these together painted a picture of fatigue over poor Graham, though he'd try his hardest not to make such obvious. He'd try to pull a curtain over his fatigue, per say, as he still strode through camp with his tall, leader-like stature. As always. There were some things about Joshua that, no matter how tired, would remain the same.

Without even saying a word of warning to any of his tribesman, Joshua began gathering supplies and inspecting pistols for a hike out into Zion. Alone. He supposed that even if he didn't have the aid of The Courier, that didn't mean he couldn't continue to scour Zion for more traces of Legion; even if he would be less effective on his own. Even if the pendant he still held served as solid evidence of Caesar's Legion in Zion, Joshua still wanted more. If there was more out there, he wanted to find it. He would find it.

On his way out of camp, Joshua caught the eyes of Follows-Chalk, who was sitting near the water's edge in camp, knees tucked to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs and chin setting atop his forearms. His eyes were distant and clouded when they met briefly with Joshua's; perhaps filled with disappointment. Perhaps longing for something. After all, by now Follows-Chalk knew of the scouting groups he was being kept out of. Although Chalk was still allowed a short ways out of camp for things such as hunting, it was still understandably disappointing that he was being kept from assisting his brothers in his most talented field. It crossed Joshua's mind that he should be grateful Chalk wasn't the type to sneak out of camp on his own initiative. Chalk had far too large a guilty conscience for such things.

Joshua would direct his search through Zion toward the far side of the Grand Staircase, past Sorrows Camp and into The Narrows. This would be a long hike, as he was starting from quite literally the opposite side of the canyon. Along with him, he'd carry nothing more than two .45 pistols and a Stimpak. It was all he believed he needed, and knowing Joshua, it _was_ all he needed. Even against the forces of Zion, a former Legate, war chief, and experienced marksman such as himself could handle being on his own just fine.

While one pistol stayed dormant in its holster on Graham's belt, the other remained clutched in his hand at all times, finger lingering above the trigger. Joshua had developed a habit of always keeping a weapon ready when trekking Zion, as there were more than a few things stalking the sandstone that would love to gnaw your skull down to a fine powder. Joshua knew that all too well. He'd seen more than enough fallen tribals in his time. Joshua walked at a fast pace, eyes restlessly flicking around the canyon, trying to assess as much of his surroundings as he could. No movement around him aside from the gentle sway of plants caught in the breeze.

A couple hours into his trek and not a bullet shed from his gun, Joshua came up on Sorrows camp. A few of the tribespeople nodded to him, giving their respects, as they went about their day, entering and exiting their secluded piece of canyon. Joshua wondered if Daniel was in camp at this time of day and if there was any sort of information he may be able to spare.

No reason not to try. Joshua holstered his held pistol and proceeded down the open stone corridor leading to the center of Sorrows camp. Joshua picked up his pace as the man he was looking for came into view. Just as he expected, Daniel sat at the riverside. He held a worn, leatherback book in his hands, turning each page with great practiced care. A Bible no less, and not at all to Joshua's surprise. Daniel always took the time of day to revel in his faith. Something Joshua did as well, however had began doing lesser after the war with the White Legs ended. He felt a strange disconnect from religion after the rush of executing Salt-Upon-Wounds had felt so right in his mind. However, Joshua was still nevertheless a religious man, only perhaps not as strongly as before the White Leg puppets of Caesar plagued Zion.

Daniel's eyes shot up from his scripture as he caught a glimpse of Joshua's familiar rattlesnake-skin shoes approaching him. A smile quirked at his cheeks, glad to see his old friend finally visiting his side of the canyon. "Joshua," he addressed, lifting himself off the soil. Daniel stood with perfect posture, though was still a few inches shy of Joshua's height. As Joshua took in the sight of his comrade once again, he felt himself suddenly, unexpectedly reminded of _Remi_. There was a certain contrast between the two men who he trusted so well.. Daniel, even when smiling bright as the sun, didn't have his mustache quirk in the way it did for Remi. Nor did Daniel's eyes line up perfectly with Josh's on account of his height, like they did for Remi. These small, insignificant things hadn't once crossed Joshua's mind until now. Maybe, even if he didn't know it, they weren't so insignificant anymore. Maybe Remi himself wasn't as insignificant anymore, if not at all.

"Daniel," he returned the gesture, "I was afraid you might not still be in Zion," he said, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. "I'm glad to see you are."

"I thought I would stay for a while. Teach the Sorrows what I can while I'm here," he said.

"And just how long have you been here?" He asked. He kept tabs on Daniel, of course, though they'd become looser as he'd recently shifted his and his scout's attention to _other_ matters.

"Only about two weeks. Not long." Joshua's brows furrowed at the answer. To him, all that meant was that it was terribly unlikely Daniel had any information to give in regards to the Legion. He would try, however, not to let his expression show his disappointment to Daniel.

Joshua nodded. "I see. Well, regardless, I'm glad to see that you're still visiting," he said, polite and well-mannered, as he was meant to be in the presence of any New Canaanites.

"Of course, Joshua. It just wouldn't be right if I were to abandon Zion completely." Joshua felt himself smile a bit. It was always comforting to listen to how strongly Daniel still cared for Zion and its people. He seemed to be one of the very few that did. Joshua shifted where he stood, placing more weight into his left side as he stood in a more relaxed position.

"I can second that opinion, Daniel," he replied, pausing, and continuing, "in any case, I'm sure you're wondering why I came by camp, given I don't usually just visit on a whim.."

"It never has been part of your routines." He'd hit the nail on its head with that assumption.

He scoffed. "No, no it hasn't. Too unorganized for my daily schedule," he paused, "the Dead Horses and I are carrying out searches throughout the canyon; scouting for Caesar's Legion. If you've caught wind of anything regarding them, I'd appreciate it if you told me." Daniel's expression seemed to change as he heard Joshua's reason for having visited; grew less content and happy. A bit more serious. Perhaps even a hint of disappointed, given Joshua was here on business that didn't regard Daniel nor the Sorrows. He knew better than to be upset by this, though, as he knew Joshua was never the type to visit out of the kindness of his heart, nor without direct reason.

"Unfortunately, I myself haven't seen any Legion around Zion for the time I've been here," he replied, "I don't think I even knew you and the Dead Horses found traces of Caesar.. They're not posing any large threat, are they?" He asked, tone growing mildly concerned as the threat of Legion in Zion began to settle on Daniel's mind. No doubt he'd be remembering the previous damage they caused with the White Legs.

"Not yet." Joshua looked away, expression caught between thoughtful and distant, "however, I'd prefer not to chance that. Thus far, my scouts have only spotted couriers, but I don't trust any Legionary passing through this canyon, and I want to know for what reason they have been passing through." Daniel nodded, likely empathizing with Joshua's point of view.

"I see. Well, you're always welcome to ask around camp. The Sorrows keep a keen eye on their side of Zion, maybe they'll have spotted something," he suggested. Joshua politely nodded. For the time being, he wouldn't take Daniel up on his offer. It was mid-day in Sorrows camp and if any of the tribals were in camp at all, they were working. Joshua wasn't one to make rude interruptions.

"Thank you, Daniel, but I think I'll be on my way," he uncrossed his arms and stood straight, "if you do find anything, report either to me or any of the Dead Horses," he said, gave a tip of his head in farewells, and began walking out of camp. On his way out of camp, he brought one of his pistols back into his hand. Doing so was practically an automatic muscle-memory induced reaction for Joshua by now, like scratching an itch. Familiar and practically not thought about, just done. He may not even need his pistol in his grip for the time being; for all he knew there might not be a deadly creature for miles. But, nevertheless, he'd always make it a point to have his fingers wrapped around that .45's grip.

Joshua would continue his search past Sorrows Camp, heading deeper into The Grand Staircase. He found nothing significant on the remainder of his walk, to his own disappointment and unacknowledged expectation. Joshua had never felt so frustrated by the lack of the Legion's presence. Even though he wanted them gone from his canyon, it only made his blood run cold to see they weren't passing through anymore. To him, that could just as easily mean they no longer needed to send couriers through Zion, that Caesar knew Joshua had discovered their passing through. That prospect in itself was bone-chilling to Graham. It put him in jeopardy, but more importantly, it put his people and his friends in jeopardy, which was something that he thought was more awful than a second baptism by fire.

By the time he reached the end of The Narrows and still found no evidence of Legion, he decided to call this search unsuccessful, finished, and began the trek back to Dead Horse camp. - The sun was high in the sky and peeking out from behind thin, wispy clouds by the time he returned. Mid afternoon, as Joshua would guess. The tribals in camp were going about their day almost exactly like they did every day before, carrying out routine jobs and practices in all too familiar manners. Camp was just the same as it always was. There was, however, one piece of this day that fell out of place, kept this day from being an exact replica of days prior. Joshua. His absence throughout the day and attitude were unfamiliar, unplanned, and unpracticed. Joshua was undoubtably beginning to suffer the affects of his obsession with the Legion-related suspicions. He may also be suffering the affects of other things, such as Remi's sudden absence from the canyon. Perhaps he'd grown too comfortable with The Courier's company, making adjusting to days without him more difficult, despite being perfectly capable on his own prior to The Courier. Perhaps it was just the unfamiliar combination of the Legion in Zion _and_ Remi's absence.

Joshua almost immediately retreated to Angel Cave upon his reentering camp, bypassing all of his people without so much as a wave. Inside the cave, he paid little mind to the tribals working within, though he did pass a short glance toward Follows-Chalk, who sat on the floor with his satchel in his lap. Joshua disregarded the idea of asking what it was he was doing over there and proceeded to his wing of the cave. He slowed his steps to a halt as he entered the room, placed a good ten feet from his desk. He exhaled deeply. It felt odd now not to be bickering with Remi over some small, insignificant matter as he entered his chambers. He felt oddly out of place, and especially here in his own home.

Managing to overcome his unease, Joshua sat at his desk. He set his hands atop the wood, fingers faintly ticking with desire to diligently work on _something_. Anything. Preferably guns. But, alas, it again didn't feel right. Joshua didn't quite feel himself sink into his usual routine of ending his night in inspecting .45 pistols. He felt far from that, actually. Eventually, he reached into a pocket and pulled the Legion pendant into his hand. He began rolling it though his fingers, almost as if keeping that thing in his hand had become a habit. Perhaps it had. Joshua leaned forward over his desk, eyeing the items left on it. His guns, a half-used roll of bandage, and on the far corner, a near empty pack of cigarettes. Joshua's brows furrowed. Those weren't his. No doubt Remi had left them.

Joshua's expression seemed to soften and he took the package into his other hand. Seemed it was almost impossible to take Remi out of his day, even when he wasn't even around. His chest rose and fell with a sigh. He considered stealing a smoke, but found it would lose significance without his usual conversation partner present and offering him the cigarette. He set the small box back on his desk. Generally speaking, Joshua didn't even like smoking much. Never had. It was just different when it was with Remi, because Remi uses his ambiguous addiction to nicotine as a means of striking conversation. It's his version of the pre-war gesture of offering someone coffee to entice talking.

Eventually, Joshua settled with only moving the pendant across his knuckles. He didn't set a finger on even one of his precious guns. Admittedly, this was the first time in months where Joshua fell utterly and entirely out of his daily routine. Strangely enough, this didn't quite throw his mood off. Though, on the contrary, his mood was quite confused to begin with. His mind couldn't seem to decide if it was content, upset, enraged.. Or simply neutral, in its plainest form. Maybe he was just as formerly mentioned, in entirety: Confused.

As afternoon finally faded into sunset, and sunset faded into night, Joshua grew tired with endlessly moving the bronze pendant in his hands. He stopped his hands movements, held the pendant still in his palm for a time, then set it down. The base of his hand was warm from constant movement, and the metal medallion was just as much. He then brought his hands up just behind his head and began slowly unwrapping his bandages. Taking them off never felt the same anymore; never quite felt as familiar nor comfortable, and the same applied to putting them back on. Not after he'd let Remi do it for him, which effectively broke his routine from there on out. In truth, he'd never let anyone else do it for him, so having Remi do it put a whole new perspective on such a simple, small daily task. It made him a bit more tolerant of another person's interference in his daily rituals, and also tolerant of perfection below his self-inflicted standards. Well, in regards to his bandages, that is.

After all bandages were removed and discarded, Joshua replaced himself at his desk. He now wore only his button down and jeans _(plus boxers)_ , as he'd previously had to remove them in order to unwrap everything. Even though these clothes in particular were incredibly familiar, they felt odd against his bare skin. Out of place, out of the routine. He'd grown accustomed to his skin being against nothing more than rough, thin bandage. Needless to say, he's worn his clothes post-burned without the wraps before, though it was still something he never had the time to get comfortable with. Adjusting himself at his desk, Joshua held his hands idle over the wooden planks. Hitting a mental wall when he reached the question of what exactly he was going to do or work on now.

Evidently, despite all the unease and disinterest in his usual night schedule, Joshua ended his night in inspecting every .45 pistol on his desk. _Every last one._ Old habits either die hard or don't die at all, don't they? Joshua never actually took the time to leave his desk and go to bed, as he eventually fell under the spell of sleep with a gun still gripped in his hand. If Remi were still in Zion and caught sight of such a spectacle, he would've held it against Joshua for months. Might've even given him a silly, degrading nickname for it.

The remainder of the week from the following morning forward was no better than any of the previous days. Worse, if anything. Joshua moved his way through his days, through his people, through his canyon, as if he were constantly carrying two solid steel weights. One on his shoulders, the other on his mind. He fell deeper into a state of dormancy as the week went on, finding his emotions frozen in a state of neutrality, and his body frozen in a state of fatigue. Unease in mind and in body. This week was shaping up to be more difficult for Joshua than he expected, and not in any way how he expected.

By the fifth day, Joshua stopped leaving camp altogether, breaking his habit of taking walks or occasionally joining Dead Horse scouting parties. He felt too out of place to go about his day in his usual manner. Too much had occupied and overwhelmed his thoughts in the previous week, exhausted his mind, to allow such. All he could bring himself to do for the time being was contemplate the Legion threat, hold and tinker with that medallion, and make petty attempts at sleeping. He hadn't even eaten on the fourth and fifth day. Forgot to. On the sixth, Follows-Chalk brought him a share of what he and his hunting group had killed and cooked earlier that day, having had noticed Joshua's absence around the campfire at dinner time the last two days.

The seventh, final day of the week came around faster than a Nightstalker did on an unsuspecting Mole Rat pup. Remi should be coming back within the next couple days now, in the case he actually does return on time. Joshua sat at his desk, spinning the round Legion pendant atop the wood, with one trivial thing crossing his mind._ Remi lost his bet. _He didn't come back to Zion a day early, and as it seemed, would be coming back a day late. If not later.

Joshua wasn't surprised at all. He expected such out of Remi, who he knew all too well to be an over-confident and thick-skulled man. And, given this loss, a presumably awful gambler. As the morning sun shifted its position and became the noon sun, Joshua slowly rose from his desk. He lacked bandages, though everything else in regards to his outfit was intact. He made his way outside into the center of Dead Horse camp, where men and women came and went as they went about their daily rituals. Rituals which were still perfectly untouched, unlike Joshua's. He took a seat by the water's edge, letting his feet rest atop the compact clay as soft waves of water brushed up against his scarred skin. He drew in a deep inhale of Zion's clean, nearly entirely unirradiated air. Relaxing. Something he'd neglected to let himself do this week. Perhaps it was the thought that Remi would be returning and his work would be resuming soon that let his mind be at peace. Perhaps he was just too tired to concern himself anymore.

Tiredness which, as the tale tells, put him to sleep right where he sat. His lack of sleep throughout the week rendered him uncharacteristically fatigued, and the serenity of sitting by the water put Joshua out like a campfire left out in a thunderstorm. He sat with his legs bent at the knees, wrists resting on his knee caps, and head lazily hung down, leaning forward. None of the Dead Horses bothered waking him up. Even they knew it would be best to leave him be.

Hours passed, tribals came and went, and still Joshua sat by the water's edge in what became deep sleep. The sun's gracing light came and went through Zion without Joshua even knowing. He slept all through the day, catching up on what was nearly a week's worth of lost resting hours.

The next time Joshua's slaty blue eyes opened, they did so to see warm sunlight spilling over camp. Too much sunlight, in fact. If Joshua didn't know any better, he'd say the sun was in the position for it to be mid morning rather than-.. _Oh. _Joshua then, in that moment, came to the realization that he'd slept all the way into the next day. What an undesirable welcoming of the eighth day. He supposed that given he'd awoken without a grinning, rough-bearded brunette standing over him, the seventh day was proven to not be the final waiting day. He exhaled deeply and relaxed his muscles, then stretching his arms and legs out in front of him. Here comes what he expected to be yet another painfully uneventful day.

Joshua stood from where he sat and set his hands on his lower back before pushing his chest forward and stretching. A faint crack emanated from his spine, at which he groaned softly. No doubt the way he'd slept yesterday didn't do his already fatigued body any justice. Graham began to trudge his way back to Angel Cave, preparing to spend another day lost in unpleasant thought. As he walked through the cave, he walked right on by his desk, not even taking a pause as he passed it by. He didn't plan on sitting down there and staring down at his hands for hours yet again, contemplating whether or not he should pick up a pistol or just twiddle that Legion medal. He also passed by where Follows-Chalk always sat in the main section of the cave. He was absent from that space today, though Joshua thought nothing of it. He likely attended a morning hunt with the other tribals.

Joshua made his way to the secondary exit to Angel Cave, which let out onto the upper part of camp, where Joshua had overlooked the canyon when this whole unbearable week began. He let out a long, content exhale as he emerged to see no other tribals present around the small campfire next to the cliff. A couple recently used bedrolls lay around the area, though none of them were occupied. Wonderful. Joshua had this place and its silence to himself. He took a seat at the edge of the cliff overlooking the lower camp, cross-legged and hands in his lap. His blue eyes surveyed this place, his home; admiring it. Zion and its beauty were calming to Joshua. The thought that he and every person living here had treated their home well enough to retain such beauty calmed him most prominently.

Graham angled his head back a bit and closed his eyes, letting himself fall into a state of serenity. Not sleep, no, just dormancy. At ease, at long last. Perhaps that entire day of sleep was just what Joshua needed to ease his nerves.. With no commotion nor voices nor ravaging thoughts to disturb his peace, Joshua simply sat in that same position for a time. A couple hours, at the least. After a while, he reopened his eyes and began studying the expanse of Zion before him, irises following along the serpentine river slithering its way through Dead Horse camp.

As the sun rose into its high noon position, the bright light gracing Zion persuaded Joshua to look away from the expanse of the canyon. Due to his fatigue and recent sleeplessness, his eyes were still sensitive, and especially toward the vast amount of natural light soaking the Eastern Virgin. He let out a long exhale and began idly glancing around him, as he had an equal desire not to stare into the light as he did not to close his eyes again. Joshua let his eyes wander over the several bedrolls lying around the area, searching for anything of interest. As his eyes skimmed over the area, he nearly passed over something sitting upon a peculiar bedroll that evidently caught his attention just before he looked away from its location.

A hat. A very familiar, particular one, at that. A baseball cap covered in feathers and buttons and many other various items, most of which looked to be pre-war knick-knacks. Joshua furrowed his brows at the item, as he knew exactly what it was, and he knew it immediately. Follows-Chalk's "headdress". He found it odd for it to just be sitting up here alone; Chalk practically never took that thing off, let alone just leave it out in the open like this. Joshua reached over to pick up the hat, figuring Chalk may've lost it and that he could return it whenever Chalk made his way back into camp. As Joshua came closer to where the hat lay and reached his hand out to pick it up, more detail he hadn't noticed about the area upon which it sat came into focus.

Most of what he hadn't quite seen before was tears in the bedroll, and pieces of its cotton stuffing being strewn about the ground. Joshua thought nothing of it, though this was short lived as he returned the attention of his eyes to the hat. A thin river of dried red liquid traced the ground next to the hat and slightly stained its pale fabric, grabbing his attention like hands to his throat. Only then did it begin to dawn on Joshua what might have gone on here, which put his nerves on ice. He took his eyes off the headdress, now closely surveying this small area, pupils flicking back and forth almost frantically. Chalk hadn't left his hat here at his own will. On the bedroll, another few spattered drops of blood, faint imprints of fine boots in the dirt, the tears in the bedroll beginning to look more like slashes- He finally stopped glancing around and returned to the hat, picking it up off the dirt- A fraction of a moment later, revelation hit Graham like a bullet.

His entire body froze as he lifted the hat into his hand and his eyes fell to the small space where it previously was. Under the hat lie a small, bronze medallion. On it, the face of Caesar stared up at him. Joshua dropped the hat and picked the pendant up, hands now subtly shaking. He flipped it over in his hands, felt his skin practically freeze after it crawled with unease. The face of the cold-blooded fox, Vulpes Inculta, met his gaze. The leader of the Frumentarii branch of the Legion. This medallion was only given to those in _his_ branch.

Joshua's hand clenched around the medallion and he stood up fully. His fingers coiled around its metal tight enough to cause his digits pain, though he disregarded it. A Legionary as careful and skilled as a Frumentarii would not have left their pendant in such a revealed, foolish position. This was a mockery. This was intentional. They wanted Graham to know of their presence, to know of the pain they had caused.

Could the other pendant have served a similar purpose? Had Frumentarii been in Graham's canyon before this? His head pounded with such thoughts.

Joshua's chest was now rising and falling with steeper, weighted breaths. This was the threat he so wished never came, never existed. The Legion had attacked, but it had chosen to snap its jaws at those who Graham cared about rather than he himself. Joshua, now in unreleased rage as he came to realize what happened, shoved the pendant in his pocket and returned into Angel Cave.

He strode to his desk and immediately grabbed two .45 pistols as well as enough ammunition to suit ten. His eyes were glinting with an icy fire, burning with a familiar hatred. A hatred forged specifically and solely for the Legion. Joshua then shouldered his way out of Angel Cave, trying not to bother or strike suspicion in the tribespeople as he did so, though when he got out into the clearing of camp... He disregarded the idea of subtly, and began _running. _Heading for the Northern Passage as fast as he could. If the Legion hadn't killed Chalk already, they would be taking him to The Fort, no doubt. There was no way the Frumentarii were far from Zion, if not still within it, as given Joshua had seen Chalk the day before, they had managed to take him either in the night or in this very same day.

After Joshua passed the entirety of Dead Horse camp, he only ran faster, shoes swiftly hitting compact dirt, chest heaving with long and heavy breaths. If there was a chance of catching the Legionaries before he lost his tribe-member and friend, he'd take it. Joshua ran across the path leading to the Northern Passage with enough haste to beat a Deathclaw, as fear, fury, and determination pushed his feet forward. As Joshua reached the opposite side of the bridge where the Passage await, something stopped him in his tracks and nearly dropped him on his knees to pray where he stood.

A caravan. Small, unwelcome, unplanned, and crawling with two men in torn red armor. Joshua's fists clenched tight, practically digging the metal pendant into the flesh of the hand which held it. He stopped where he stood and moved behind a boulder, only peeking his head out to watch the still, brahmin-led vehicle. As much as he desired to shoot the Legionaries down where they stood, that would only bare worse consequences as he knew Caesar would sent more, and next time send them to kill rather than capture. As well as if they caught wind of him, Joshua knew they may kill their hostage- Follows-Chalk- who Graham could just barely catch a glimpse of, sitting in a steel-barred cage within the caravan. Joshua would have to kill them silently, inconspicuously; perhaps inside their own caravan, so that hopefully Caesar and no other Legionary possibly hiding in Zion would know of the dead Frumentariis until too late, and then still not know their cause of death.

Joshua watched closely as the two men strapped down Chalk's cage to keep it still inside the caravan before boarding into the driver's cart, preparing to leave. Joshua took such as an opportunity to quickly make his way across the bridge and begin sneaking toward the caravan. He kept low to the ground as he reached the opposite side of the bridge and began stepping closer to the caravan, placing his feet on the ground with great practiced care. He was dead silent, like a breeze ghosting the Mojave's sand. As he came closer, the conversation between the supposed Frumentarii came just barely into earshot. Joshua only caught bits and pieces, though he heard something in regards to The Fort. Likely their destination. He couldn't let them reach such a destination. He wouldn't.

As Joshua reached the point of being little more than ten feet from the caravan, the lash of a whip cracked the air and a brahmin groaned, then the caravan began to move. Joshua's eyes widened, and on impulse, driven to save Follows-Chalk and kill his captors quietly and without notice, he stood and ran for the caravan, grabbing onto the back of it and quickly hoisting himself up into the carriage. Doing so produced only a moderate thump, which was the sound of his boots hitting wood. The Frumentarii seemed to think nothing of it, and kept their eyes pointed to the passage ahead. Joshua's eyes flicked to Follows-Chalk, who looked terrified where he sat in the cage, curled up with his knees pressed against his chest.

Several cuts lined the tribal's face, arms, and chest. His fingers were coated in dried blood. He'd put up a fight when the Legionaries found him, no doubt. Joshua slinked closer to the cage, searching it until he found a padlock sealing it closed. He took it into his empty hand and looked to Chalk, who from the moment he got into the caravan was only staring at him with wide, afraid eyes.

Joshua whispered to Chalk. "I'm going to get you out. Stay quiet-" Chalk stopped him as he made a nonsensical hand gesture and frantically shook his head.

"No-"

"Chalk, I'm going to help you, you're-" Joshua's voice suddenly stopped and was replaced by a sudden, broken, choked out noise of struggle. Large, gloved hands wrapped around Graham's neck, pulling him backwards and away from Chalk, knocking him on his back. The hands moved to grab his shoulders and pull him backward and slightly up. Now on the ground, His eyes shot upward toward his attacker. Red armor and black goggles covering emotionless eyes filled his gaze. A third, unseen Legionary. He'd been too set on and determined to save Follows-Chalk; he'd made an error. Rage and an unclear mind caused Joshua to do such an uncharacteristic, fatal thing. Joshua kept his eyes focused on the man above him, quickly reaching one hand around to his hip to grab his gun, though he saw the Frumentarii take something into his own hand. Large, gray, unevenly rounded.

Joshua grabbed the .45 and fixed his finger on the trigger; shaky, but steady enough to kill. He began to move the gun out of its concealed position, watched the man lift what he held in his own hand and- The Legionary was gone. Suddenly, all that filled his vision was black nothingness, and a striking pain went through his head for just a moment before fading to utter numbness. His body fell limp.

Knocked unconscious.

Fallen into a trap.

The next thing Joshua felt was the warm, soft, and gentle sun against his unbandaged skin as he began to awake. A comforting, disengaging feeling that would only last a fraction of a second. His eyes slitted open to see the horizon of the Mojave greeting him, rather than that of Zion. The Colorado river and beyond came into view ahead of him. Far in the distance, one could even see the tip of the Lucky 38 shining bright in New Vegas.

Joshua began to move his hands, again set on grabbing his gun as his mind cleared, unaware he may not even need it anymore. He was simply resuming the last task he'd set on himself. Though, when he tried to bring his hands to his hip, he came to a rude awakening as a terrible pain overtook his wrists as he so much as shifted them. His mind began to rid of the fog of having just become conscious, and he became aware his hands were crudely nailed to wooden boards on either side of him, streams of blood flowing along his wrists and forearms. His heart began to beat faster and with more sudden realization. Joshua tried to move his entire body now, and was met with a pain strong enough to pull a wince and grunt from Graham's usually pain tolerant lips. He looked down, toward his feet, to see them tied together on a moderately long, vertical board. He was suspended nearly a foot above the ground.

His eyes snapped back up to look around at his surroundings below as a terrible, daunting revelation came upon Joshua's mind. His heart clenched and his eyes lost color at the sight before him. He was nailed to a wooden cross in the center of the Gladiator ring in the very epicenter of Fortification Hill. Made a show for the Legion, captured by Caesar. Around him, Legionaries stood watch. Some of them had began talking as they saw Joshua awaken and begin to move, therefore also begin to suffer. Graham's teeth clenched and his chest heaved with heavy, unsteady breaths.

As his eyes restlessly searched his surroundings, he felt a cold, undesired familiarness fill his body from core to fingertips. He knew every inch of this camp, and he hated that. After his exile, he'd never wanted to see this God forsaken place again. The only fortune he had was that his back was facing Caesar's tent, so that there was no way he would have to face the eyes of the man he hated so much, and in such a degrading position no less. Yet, at the very least. Joshua's eyes continued to search the camp, reluctant yet frantic and unable to stop, and something else familiar came into view. Unexpectedly familiar. Familiar in a way Joshua couldn't deem a curse, a blessing, or a mockery.

Through all the merciless, dead, dark eyes of the Legionaries, one pair stood out with a heart-wrenching familiarness. Blue eyes, pale yet bright enough to catch his attention. Distinct. Blue eyes staring directly into his, exhibiting a cross between shock, disbelief, and absolute remorse. Remi's.


	8. Chapter 7

_Welcome to chapter 7, everybody! I hope you guys appreciated last chapter's cliffhanger.3_

_Now, one quick note regarding this chapter: it's a big, important one, however it's also a contributor to why this fiction is rated M. There are some depictions of **violence/blood** in this chapter._

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Joshua's eyes deadlocked with Remi's, boring into them with a scalding look of disappointment, betrayal, and genuine hurt. A lack and loss of trust. Everything that had been built up between them tumbling down in a fraction of a second. Remi felt himself unable to look away from Joshua, finding it would only bring him more shame and less pity if he were to try and avoid eye contact, despite the aching hurt in his chest. It would render him weak and spineless in Graham's eyes, in the case he wasn't already.

How ironic it is, isn't it? Remi always wanted Joshua to hold eye contact better, to look him in the eyes in a serious situation. Now he was doing just that, and not looking like he was going to break away anytime soon. All Remi wanted was for Joshua to look away and cease digging the rusty knife of regret into his gut, though it seemed it was unlikely he'd be receiving that. Deep down somewhere in Remi's mind, he knew he deserved it. Such an admittance was repressed by shock and scarred emotions, however. Remi's pale blue eyes stayed focused on Joshua's, watching him now as he hung still on his cross. All other movement around him seemed to blur, and even the occasional shifts of movement in Joshua blurred as he focused wholeheartedly on Graham's stone-cold eyes.

Remi's stare was a plea for forgiveness, laced with regret. Joshua's was simply bare, cold, and piercing to the skin. A reminder of what he'd done and caused today. Joshua wanted Remi to continue to stare, to look at him and assess what was before him. He wanted Remi to bathe in regret for the lies he'd said. A cruel prospect, perhaps, but fair judgement all-in-all. Joshua, as all who knew him would know, believes strongly in such judgement. Joshua knew so long as he stared at Remi, Remi would stare right back. It wasn't in Remi's nature to do something as spineless as to disregard his companion- his friend- in a time such as this.

Joshua poured all of his focus into staring at Remi. None of the Legionaries seemed to notice who exactly he was staring at, as Remi was toward the rear of the crowd. He had no boundary as to how intently he gazed into his counterpart's pale blue eyes because of that. Moments passed, and still his eyes remained unhindered. It seemed as if he wasn't even blinking he held his stare so firmly. Finally, he saw something change in Remi's expression. His eyes widened, bore more white around his irises, pupils narrowed- And in a single abrupt moment, Joshua's eyes shot closed, breaking eye contact. A strong, striking pain flooded across Joshua's back, sinking deep into his muscles and forcing them to tighten. This effectively caused his eyes to momentarily squeeze shut. His chest was now heaving again as his body tried to tolerate the pain and resist letting out cries and whimpers. He felt warm streams of blood trail down his bare back, likely staining his burn-scar-marbled skin.

A man clad in bulky red, black, and silver armor walked out from behind Joshua, bullwhip held in one hand, bloodied tip dragging along in the dirt underfoot. His eyes were invisible behind black-tinted goggles, making him nothing more than a predatory figure to Joshua. An animal of a man; a hound held by Caesar's leash. He'd been standing behind Graham since before he'd awoken, it seemed. Waiting patiently for Joshua to regain consciousness, so that every lash of his whip would cause as much agony as possible. Joshua's eyes now followed this man as he paced before Joshua, fingers tightening and loosening around the grip of his whip, eyes scanning the man on the cross before him. Contemplating where to strike next, deciding what piece of his strung up body would muster the loudest, most pain-inflicted sounds when struck. This man wanted to make Joshua a show and an example for the Legion; a cruel performance to demonstrate the extend of the wrath of Caesar.

He was Joshua's executioner, no doubt. The man set with the task of ending the legend, the living ghost-story, the greatest enemy to Caesar himself: The Burned Man. The feat this man was set out to accomplish would be forever marked in the post-war world's history, if he is to succeed. Joshua's sharp, narrow eyes followed the Legionary as he continued to pace, occasionally lifting the whip's tip off the dirt and rapidly placing it back town in a tapping motion. In the time Graham had to watch, he noticed a belt around the man's waist, lined with many more _toys_ created just for the purpose of physical misery. A machete, a clever, a rolled-up rope, and even a couple scalpels. There might even be a pre-war taser in there. Joshua felt a cold ache race down the back of his neck at the sight of such tools. He hoped that if today was going to be his last day, he at least isn't going to be carved and ripped apart into a shameful bloody shell. He hoped it would, at the very least, be quick and with dignity.

Unlikely, in the position he was in. Joshua's eyes darted from the man's face to his hand as it lifted the bullwhip into the air, and evidently was thrust forward to enforce a slash across Graham's torso. The whip left a cut about eight inches in length just below his chest, already reddening and seeping droplets of blood. The pain swelling around his wound made Joshua purse his lips and seize his muscles, arching his abdomen and chest forward. Before his body had the time to retaliate against the pain, another blow of the whip lashed across his side, against his left ribcage. This cut was shorter, however it was deeper and already producing streams of red fluid. Sharp stings and aches emanated and poured from his cuts, each of them working in tandem to worsen the overall torment. Joshua grunted and growled under his lips at the pulsating wounds, digging into every ounce of strength he had not to give the Legion crowd before him the satisfaction they undoubtably searched for in screaming and crying out in agony. He would hold his silence- his honor- so long as he could.

This forced silence angered his executioner. He knew so, as he saw the man's hand tighten around his whip for just long enough to notice his knuckles tint white from the force of his grip. His eyes were quickly squeezed closed again as five more lashes of the whip struck his abdomen, sides, and arms. Between the strikes, he would force open his eyes despite the gathering pain, directing them past the executioner now, into one place in particular out in the flurry of Legion bystanders. Remi. His vision was too clouded and hazed for him to make eye contact, though he knew Remi would know who he was looking for in that otherwise emotionless crowd. After the lashes of the whip ceased, Joshua angled his head down, staring at his bleeding body. A droplet of warm blood slithered down Joshua's face from one of the cuts along his bicep, stopping its flow as it accumulated and became stuck in his brow. He closed his eyelids tight, unwilling to stare at such a shameful sight any longer. He knew better than to've ended up here. He knew he could've done more to prevent this, to prevent a lot of what he now realized had slipped right through his fingers.

In front of him, his executioner again paced. Once again deciding where to thrash his whip. He wanted Graham to squeal, to be battered and bleeding to a point of breaking and making as many unpleasant cries of pain as his lungs would allow. The executioner finally stopped in front of Joshua and struck against his thigh, cutting through the material of his jeans and into his skin. This forced him to grunt and pant through his nose, clenching his teeth so tight he feared they may crack. The thrash to his thigh, however, hurt less than the prior ones to his upper body, which was entirely bare. He supposed they'd removed his vest and shirt so that the whip immediately hit skin, and thus would make for bigger wounds and more bleeding. Ideally, Graham's legs weren't even a target, though it seemed this wicked executioner was out to break Joshua piece by piece. Give him nothing left to fight with by the time he finished.

Well, as Joshua found, the strike to his thigh was just to get his attention; to keep his eyes away from the crowd and focused on the executioner. The beating continued from there on out, whipping at Joshua's abdomen until everything below his collar bone looked to be streaked in thin ropes of red. Through all this, Joshua managed to make nothing more than a few struggled curses and grunts, accompanied by the occasional sickly, breathless cough. In front of him, though the aches and sores fuzzed his focus, he faintly heard a huff and growl rise from his anticipated killer's mouth. Within what felt to be the next second, a hand was grappled around his jaw, fingernails squeezing into the flesh of his cheeks as it pulled his head upward to face the masked man before him. Joshua directed his eyes straight up, meeting the lifeless irises of his executioner through the dark goggles he wore. Joshua's eyes said nothing more than that he wanted this man condemned to the merciless pit of hell where he belonged. The executioner squeezed tighter, leaned closer and put his eyes more into focus to Joshua. He looked enraged, pulsing with energy ready to expel into the act of torture.

"You are finished, Malpais Legate," he hissed, low enough for only Joshua to hear, "The Burned Man will walk no more. You will die without your honor," he squeezed tighter, "or I will make you." At that, he jerked his hand forward, jolting Joshua's head back, as he let go and took a couple steps back into the center of the arena. The executioner's gaze shot from Joshua to the crowd behind him. His eyes narrowed as he then looked back to Joshua, gaze filling with some chilling spark. _An idea._ The Legion man walked back up to Joshua, raised his whip, and began relentlessly striking in quick, short slashes; as if he were using Joshua as a lifeless practicing block. Nothing that would cause deep wounds, but enough to produce cuts and harsh bruises. Joshua tightened his muscles and felt as his heart increased in beat. His chest rose and fell with heavy wheezing breaths as he tried to endure the stringing and aching oozing from the lashes. Red welts marked where the whip hit each time, leaving behind a strange work of obscure art; lines crossing nearly every inch of his torso. Eventually, coping with the pain came to exhaust Graham, and he allowed his eyes to close, head falling forward in a slump. His lips remained parted, still shakily inhaling and exhaling alongside the occasional pained whimper.

Finally, after he'd closed his eyes in submission, the whipping stopped. His body still ached and pleaded for something to numb the pain. Joshua, however, didn't reopen his eyes yet. He expected to see his executioner grinning above him, likely satisfied that he had gotten just a little closer to breaking Joshua Graham. Even if it wasn't a cry of pain yet, it was still a reaction the man would definitely appreciate in his own sickening way. Joshua wanted to see no such thing. He would neglect the torturer of as much satisfaction as he could.

Joshua could hear the faint sound of boots against dirt coming closer in front of him, though this only made him close his eyes tighter. The man eventually became close enough for Joshua to just barely be able to hear his breaths. He drew even closer, now nearly against him, Joshua turned his head away. His teeth clenched in anticipation of another grab at his jaw of strike of the whip, though what he received was.. two hands to his tied ankles, though not forcefully, not grabbing or nailing or cutting them- _untying them_. This left Graham with a moment of release from his pain, though, this pleasant surprise only lasted a moment as a sharp pain suddenly shocked through the entirely of his arm as the hands moved to his right wrist, summoning the first choked out yell of pain.

Remi's eyes seemed to lose some life as he heard such a sound break the air around the arena. He'd never heard Joshua yell out in pain before, so it only stuck another thorn in his chest to know the extent of the agony Graham must be in. Remi slowly shouldered past the other Legionaries, bringing himself closer to the arena itself. He looked to Joshua's face, searching for his eyes, though found no such thing as Graham refused to pry them open.

Joshua breathed heavily and forced his eyes to stay closed as the nails through his wrist were yanked out and thrown onto the dirt, allowing his arm to fall limp by his side, though bleeding terribly. His fingers twitched and curled against his palm, digging the fingernails into his own skin to try and compensate for the pain. Joshua bit down on his tongue as he felt the hands move to his opposite wrist and begin digging the nails out of his flesh for a second time, trying to resist another cry. Which, he succeeded, but at the cost of leaving himself breathless and with a vertical cut in the center of his tongue from the sheer pressure of his teeth.

The second set of nails were pulled out quickly and in one swift, sharp tug of the executioner's hand, which evidently dropped Joshua from the cross and onto his knees in the dirt. With his head still angled down, Joshua's body jolted as he heard something land in the sand in front of him. He weakly lifted his gaze to look at the object and found a rusted, dry-blood soaked machete lying merely inches before him. Before moving either of his suffering hands, his eyes were forced up at the sound of two more sets of footsteps approaching him. He saw two more masked Legionaries enter the arena and stand beside the executioner, their own machetes already in hand.

So that was his torturer's twisted plan. To free Joshua of his binds, weak and shaking in agony, and force him to fight in the arena like a Roman barbarian. So be it. Joshua's nature would not allow him to simply stay in place on the ground and accept death, especially at the hands of nameless Legion soldiers. Joshua lifted his arm and reached for the hilt of the blade placed in front of him, wincing and grunting against the pain throbbing in his wrist as he did so. Joshua managed to weakly coil his fingers around the blade, fingers already shaking. He sucked in a long breath, filling his lungs, and began to lift it off the ground. A shooting, nearly paralyzing pain coursed through his forearm, forcing a half-yell past his lips. He clenched his teeth and took long, steep breaths as he continued to try to lift the weapon, unwilling to just let it go and drop it back onto the dirt. Eventually, the pain was numbed by adrenaline beginning to seep into his body, allowing him just enough strength to pick up the machete and rise to his feet. Shakily and unsteadily, however.

His position was far from erect, his wounds still bled, and his hands shook, though, regardless, he'd pried himself off the bloodied soil. That in itself was a triumph. Now coursing with the much needed drive to cut the throats of the Legionaries before him, Joshua managed to move around the arena with relative ease- for a person in his particular state. Of course, he occasionally fumbled and twitched with pain, though he kept balance; lesser so than his Legionary adversaries, but nonetheless. Joshua turned the machete in his hand, angling the blade's hilt in his fingers to a manner that felt perfect- familiar- to him. Even through all these years of being out of the Legion, he still remembered the perfect way to wield their blades of choice. Some things a Legionary, current, escaped, or exiled, never forgets.

Upon seeing Joshua rise to his feet, blade in hand, the executioner grinned. He made a hand gesture to the men in his company, likely giving them free will to attack as they pleased now that he saw Joshua had the strength left over to get to his feet. One of the two lessors accompanying the executioner lunged first. He charged forward, aiming his machete for the arm in which Joshua held his own machete, looking to disable Graham for battle before it even began. Joshua managed to duck out of the way, blade edge just barely grazing his bicep.

Even in his incredibly weakened state, adrenaline and the nearly unaltered state of his legs allowed Joshua just enough finesse and agility to avoid direct attacks, though given his condition, he feared he may not be able to avoid other strikes so easily, nor a battle strategy forged out of redundancy as he was bound to tire quickly and easily. With the Legionary now just behind him, Joshua took the opportunity handed to him and raised his blade, swinging for his back, just between his shoulder blades. This area wasn't armored and was merely covered by characteristic red fabric. Joshua felt the blade cut through the thin layer of cotton and dig into skin, imbedding itself and thus summoning a strangled shout for the Legionary, whose back arched as the agony sunk deep into his veins.

Joshua felt his entire arm shaking as it tried to withstand its own share of pain ricocheting back to him. He retracted the blade, pulling it back out of flesh, and took a couple steps back, nearly against the wall of the arena. He flicked the veins of blood running down the sword off onto the sand. He'd managed to cut about a half-inch into the Legionnaire's skin, leaving him wincing, panting, and pressing his hand to the slice in his back in an attempt to stop the bleeding. He was lucky Joshua missed his spine, as that would have put him out for good, no doubt. Behind the solider, the executioner's hand curled tighter around his own blade in one hand, and whip in the other, obviously frustrated by Joshua's success. Though.. He also seemed to have this secondary underlying look about him, crawling right beneath his skin, that reflected a feeling of sick amusement in seeing Joshua prevail in meaningless battle.

Joshua took a moment to pant and try to recollect his lost energy, keeping an eye on the Legionary who'd just attacked him meanwhile doing so, expecting some kind of recoil despite his injuries. Though, this was short lived, as his eyes were forced in another direction as he heard the sound of boots crunch dry soil and caught a figure moving out of the corner of his eye. The Legion solider on the opposite side of the executioner was trying his luck at Joshua now, taking a strong swing at Joshua's left side. This Legionary was larger, more muscular, and had eyes that burned with a more robust blind passion for Caesar and a hatred for all else. Joshua's eyes were only given a second's notice to assess the situation and tell him to take a quick lunge backward, lifting his arms out of strike radius, to avoid the sword's edge. His reaction time was unfortunately too late for the speed of the Legionary's arm, however. A long, though thankfully thin, cut traced from just under his ribcage to nearly the center of his abdomen. Joshua placed his free hand to the bleeding wound, hissing some vulgar curses under his breath.

He took another step backward and away from the Legionary, who was beginning to advance toward him again, this time slower and with his fingers hungrily winding around the hilt of his blade. Joshua found his back soon pressed against the scrap metal walls of the arena, which made him catch his breath in his mouth. No wonder the Legionary was choosing to approach so slowly; he knew he had Joshua cornered. Joshua refused to show any kind of weakness or fear to the Legionary, and chose to set himself in a defensive position and flip his blade in his hand, edge on its side and facing the soldier. The solider let a faint snicker escape his lips and lunged forward for Joshua, blade aimed right for his mid-abdomen. Were that strike to hit its mark, he'd cut through Joshua's stomach and leave him to bleed out on the filthy earth, likely with his intestines strewn out onto the sand in a disgusting unorganized heap.

As the Legionary lunged, Joshua didn't move. Didn't even flinch, only held his ground. He simply held his blade far out in front of him, and allowed the foolish bloodlust-driven solider to ram his own body into the machete as he threw himself in the direction of Graham. The soldier had little strategy attached to his attack and had simply decided to charge full-force for Graham, and given the limited amount of space between him and Joshua, made his lunge take place in only a moment's notice, which was, as just demonstrated, not enough time for the Legionary to realize his mistake and evade the machete.

As the realization of what he'd done sank into the solider's mind, his eyes grew cloudy and glassy, expression growing distant. Joshua saw this as he stared into the solider's eyes, his own gaze cold and reflecting no more emotion than a stone wall. The man dropped his blade onto the ground, hands shaking from base to tip. He moved one hand to the wound, where he found Joshua's sword still implanted in his gut. He squeezed his hand around the edges of the wound, body twitching as he did so. The soldier looked down, slowly, and his breath hitched, unable to bear the sight of his own failure. He began to draw in air quicker, quieter, and in shallower gulps, lips widely parted. Eventually, his shaking hands let go, and his body fell limp. His eyes broke away from Joshua's. His body fell backward, ripping himself free of the blade as Joshua held it firm and still, and landed in the dirt. Eyes still open, staring ahead. He lied quiet, head angled to the side and drooling a thin stream of blood. He may still be alive, though if so, he'd succumb within a matter of seconds.

Joshua slowly retracted his blade back to his side, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, and broke his eyes away from the still body of the Legionary. He focused his slaty blue gaze onto the executioner once again, who stood by the previously wounded soldier. He stood tall and powerful, confronting Joshua's own stance, while his counterpart slouched and held his wound, keeping his eyes carefully averted. Joshua turned his blade in his hand and shifted his stature, facing the executioner, beginning to stare him down. If patterns were to run their course, the executioner himself would be up to battle Joshua next. Graham looked forward to it, as he wanted nothing more than to spill more blood than the executioner had from him.

The executioner swung the hand holding his whip back into the solider beside him, hitting his fist lightly against his chest, as to gesture for him to leave the arena. He did so, with head held low in shame. He walked slow and hesitant back into the crowd, as every Legionary knows the cost of losing battle is death. He knew it wouldn't be long until he met his own executioner, that in mind. After the nameless soldier left the arena, the executioner took a step forward toward Joshua, flipping his blade into an offensive position and giving his whip a flick against the dirt, outwardly challenging Joshua.

They both stood still for what felt to be minutes, eyes locked in a deadly stare, calculating who would try and take the first strike. Both of these men seemed to have sharply honed skills in battle, and so they both anticipated the opportunity to clash and see the full extent of one another's power. Both also held the strong belief that their own strength would topple their counterpart's. But, as every fight in the Legion goes, the victor will know his own power only when his opponent's heart has ceased to beat and his blood paints the ground.

With a swelling rage forming within the executioner, he finally broke the silence as he lunged forward, thrashing his sword right for Joshua's chest. Joshua had expected the bloodlust bound Legionary to strike first, however he hadn't anticipated his speed in comparison to Joshua's own, which was greatly limited due to the condition of his body. As he tried to swerve out of the direction of the machete, he missed a direct hit to his chest, however received an unforgiving slash to his shoulder and collarbone as he tried to evade the executioner. He let out an agonized yell and growl as he felt a heavy pain seeping into his lower neck. His collarbone didn't feel broken, no; however Joshua had no doubt the bone had been hit at the least. He didn't have the time to raise his hand to the wound and check its severity, as the executioner was immediately taking another swing for Graham. With one arm now practically incapacitated, Joshua would have to be cautious with the arm that held his blade out in front of him.

Knowing he wouldn't have the time to leap out of the way of the executioner, Joshua quickly raised his blade and thrust it forward, clashing steel with steel as he blocked the executioner's blow. The Legionary shouted curses and pushed his machete against Joshua's with added force, rather than jumping backward and planning another strike. He chose this approach because he knew Joshua's stamina would be greatly diminished by now and he would be able to eventually overpower him if he continued to push. Joshua's muscles began to quiver as he struggled to hold his ground, rapidly losing what little energy he had left. Eventually, the executioner took a step forward, pushing harder and evidently pushing Joshua backward, grinding the heels of his shoes into the dirt.

Joshua only thrust harder in return. Clenching his teeth and locking every muscle in order to remain unmoved in his stance, Joshua kept his sword resisting the executioner's. His slate blue eyes locked with the dark, lifeless ones of the Legionary, passing the unsaid message that he was determined the win this fight. The executioner's own passed the same message, only with an added merciless, unforgiving edge.

The executioner placed another foot forward, looking to shove Joshua further back and hopefully disrupt his stance enough to make him lose grip. However, he received a surprise as Joshua didn't budge, but rather took his own step forward in retaliation. This put the two dangerously close, swords still crossed in an _x_ before them. A sickening grin began to take place over the executioner's lips, as if he were admiring Joshua's persistence in battle.

"Caesar was right," he suddenly spoke, low and raspy to Joshua's ears. The executioner pushed his sword harder, twisting the angle of Joshua's arm as his sword was forced closer to him. "Your pride will be your end." Before Joshua would realize the error of his ways and recognize the executioner's words, the legionary had whipped his sword back, drew his arm up, and took a final swing.

The pain itself sept in slow, but what came immediately was a sudden weakness coursing throughout Joshua's body. One that dropped him onto his knees, made his hands shiver and chest heave for more air. Joshua dropped his sword in the dirt and began to tip forward, only barely managing to catch himself with his arm and push himself back up into a weak sitting position. Joshua had to keep one hand pinned to the ground to hold him up, while the other reluctantly ventured to hold his stomach.

A long, wide, bleeding gash met his fingertips. A direct hit from the machete. He audibly winced and caught his breath as he touched the wound, pain seizing his abdomen. He kept his hand hovering over the wound, whether or not he would be willing to touch it. Before him, the sound of nearing footsteps and quiet laughter snapped his cloudy blue eyes upward. The uncovered face of the executioner met his gaze, goggles hung around his neck, though Joshua couldn't focus on much more detail than his copper eyes as his weakening mind blurred his vision together.

The executioner stopped before the bleeding, kneeling, defeated Burned Man, crimson-decorated machete clutched in his hand. He took a moment to admire his work, simply standing over Joshua with his eyes pinned to him. He then took the blade into two hands and began to slowly raise it above his head, with Joshua's eyes following its steel tip, even as the metal weapon came to be placed in the center of the sun high above. He felt his breaths finally slow, and his body finally ease, as his entire body seemed to recognize that this would be his end. The only true pain left bright in his body was that in his mind, reminding him that his legacy was ending here; without honor, without dignity. Ending where it began.

"True to Caesar. The Burned Man will walk no more." Joshua closed his eyes at those words, tipping his chin further up toward the blade. Accepting, though unwilling to witness his fate. Within another moment's notice, the sound of steel striking flesh and bone filled the arena. A moment of complete, utter silence took effect thereafter. Then, the sound of stumbling and the eventual fall of a person onto dirt, and finally the sound of shaky, frantic panting. These sounds all filled the ears of the man who had thought by now his life would be ended, whose eyes finally reopened to find the maker of that end no longer boring down on him.

Rather, he found the bright-eyed and terrified face of familiarity. Hands raised, fists clenched; a power-fist covered in blood on one hand. A Pip-Boy on the other.

Remi, preforming arguably the dumbest stunt of his entire life. Stopping Joshua Graham's execution.


	9. Chapter 8

_Hey, everybody, and welcome to chapter 8! Oh, man, were this one and 7 fun to write. With the exception of some mentions regarding 7 throughout, this chapter has no to very mild blood/violence warning._

_I hope everyone's enjoying the read so far, and feedback is always appreciated! Thanks to everybody who's been along for the ride._

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Joshua and Remi's eyes met for a brief moment that felt as if it were minutes before both of their gazes were pulled to the executioner, who choked on a groan from his place on the ground. His lips were covered in his own saliva and blood as he coughed it onto the dirt, his eyes were squinted and swollen, and his nose twisted in some unsettling, unnatural manner. Remi had gotten a painful hit in to the side of his head, and likely broke enough bone to keep him on the ground for a good while.

While Joshua's eyes returned to staring up at Remi in disbelief, Remi's nervous though fiery and robust gaze had shot to the crowd still surrounding the arena. His chest began to rise and fall with steeper breaths, and his power-fist clad hand rose in a defensive position. Every last Legionary in The Fort seemed to be present around the area, and each of them seemed to be slowly overcoming the absolute shock of having witnessed Remi's stunt. One by one, they began raising their machetes and barking a slur of vulgar insults toward the traitor that Remi was, toward the failure the executioner was, and toward the omen that Joshua was. Remi took a couple slow steps backward, toward Joshua, guarding him from the evident attack. Joshua simply sat still and limp where he was, lacking the strength to so much as stand, much less fight, as his cuts and gashes still bled out his dwindling life.

Joshua's eyes weakly followed Remi as he shifted around him, eyes ricocheting around the crowd as he frantically tried to keep track of even the slightest movement within the slur of Legion soldiers. An impossible task, of course, though one he would try to accomplish regardless. He seemed determined to fight these men, to defend Joshua, despite the odds being anything but in his favor. 'Guess that's what regret and an ache for redemption can drive a man to do. Or, perhaps, that's just what pure, genuine loyalty can drive a man to do.

Within the Legion crowd, one taller, bulkier, heavier armored man shoved past the others to the front of the crowd, barking at them to stay out of his way as he went. Each and every soldier listened without question, shifting out of the path which was created solely for him. They obeyed him without any hesitation, as if not out of respect, but out of fear and intimidation. Once he reached the front of the crowd and stood before the entrance to the arena, staring at Remi through his helmet, Remi felt his hand clutch tighter around the inner-grip of his Power-Fist. A Centurion; a commander of troops; stood before him. Likely ordered to be here at the command of Caesar, with the task of retaliation against Remi. Remi pulled back a nervous swallow and stole a glance back at Joshua, whose eyes were still weakly fixated on him. His condition rendered him too weak and disoriented to've even noticed the Centurion. In fact, by this point, Joshua shouldn't even be capable of holding himself up, let alone keep his dull eyes open.

Remi watched as the Centurion slowly lifted a machete held in his hand into the air, preparing to cast a signal of attack to the soldiers clustering behind him. While doing so, he held a solid, cold, emotionless stare with Remi. Likely as a means to intimidate or challenge him, if not both. Two tactics distastefully common to the higher ranked officers of Caesar's Legion, used too often and with too little payoff. As Remi watched the Legionaries group around the Centurion, responding to his signal, he slowly lowered his free hand to his hip and clasped his fingers to a leather pocket sewn onto his belt. He slipped out something small and presumably round, then shifted his hand behind his back to conceal such an item. Joshua noticed the object held in Remi's palm, despite his state of barely hanging onto consciousness. He was able to do so because he watched as Remi pressed his thumb onto the object and a small light within glowed a bright, florescent green, casting soft light over Remi's hand and lower back.

Joshua became quickly and easily fixated on the item, focusing on it much easier than anything else due to its mesmerizing light. It kept his eyes open and attentive, which was something he greatly needed in order to remain conscious. In front of him, Remi drew in long, unsteady breaths as he watched the Legionaries swarming behind the Centurion gather into a sloppy, unorganized battle formation. This meant lower ranked soldiers gathering up closer to the arena gates, while the stronger and higher-ranked Primes and Decanuses were closer to the back. The way the Legion fought went in a sequence of weakest and in highest quantity first, stronger and lesser common last. They battled in a sense that they would use those who were easily expendable to wear an opponent down, then have the more powerful and greater skilled assure a victory. A self-jeopardizing, though surprisingly effective tactic.

Remi froze his gaze onto the Centurion's, whose hand had tightened around the hilt of his machete, likely a reaction to impatience however a need to strike at just the right moment building up within him. Remi tried his best to wholeheartedly stare back at the Legionary commander with the least fear he could, however up against the bloodlustful, lifeless eyes of the Centurion, that proved a difficult task. Behind Remi, Joshua continued to stare at the hypnotic green light through clouding eyes, using it as an anchor for his mind; a means and a reason to keep his eyes open and heart pounding in his chest. He found his gray-blue eyes suddenly brightening as the object changed, without warning- it _flashed_, and continued to do so. Blinking at a moderate pace, its light disappearing for a moment before returning to Joshua's hazy vision, further capturing his attention.

A short while after the light began to do this, Remi took another steep, though slow step backward. He had continued to stare into the eyes of the Centurion, whose lips had pursed and gaze squinted. At little more notice than another breath escaping Remi's lips, the Centurion struck his machete down and forward, tip pointed to Joshua and Remi, and yelled, "_impetus_!" to the troops behind him with a deep, shrill tone. As each and every soldier in the crowd raised their weapons and began to swarm toward the arena, Remi took Joshua's green light from behind his back and, without hesitation, threw it into the mass of Legionaries. As he did so, he ducked backward, shielding Joshua's vision while holding an arm in front of his own face.

As the item arched through the air, bursts of electricity enveloped the air around it, alongside its growing bright green light. Plasma-like in appearance, in behavior. When it hit the ground, landing at the feet of the Centurion, a similar effect multiplied by hundreds and shockwave rattling the ground took place, dropping most Legionaries onto the dirt in a seizure-like fit, covered in burns. Those who were lucky enough not to be close to the blast's epicenter carried electrical burns and the look of incredible shock on their faces. The explosion had produced an incredible amount of white and green light, blinding and stunning many of the surviving Legionaries. Though, not only the Legionaries were effected by such a blast, as Joshua had watched the light despite Remi's attempt to keep him from doing so. He had felt the shockwave pulse through his weak body as well, jolting him. He sit hunched over and limp in the dirt now, eyes gently closed. Fallen unconscious, or, rather, shocked unconscious.

After taking an additional moment after the explosion to shield his eyes from the light, Remi lowered both of his hands and looked over the hoard of Legion soldiers, assessing the extent of the damage he'd caused. Nearly all of the lower ranked had been killed or severely wounded, and those of higher ranks, toward the back of the crowd, worked to salvage remaining troops and reorganize an attack. Remi felt his breaths and heartbeat grow faster in unison, excited and anxious, and his eyes dropped from the crowd to his belt as he began sloppily, shakily rushing his hands into another slightly larger pocket, reaching for a second concealed item. He pulled out a small device bearing a RobCo seal, one which looked as if it would fit around one's wrist. It looked similar to a Pip-Boy in structure, however was significantly smaller and bore less buttons and nobs. Remi was frantic in his wrapping the device around his forearm, just behind his Pip-Boy. He acted as if strapping that machine on meant his life, and perhaps it did, as after Remi had started pressing buttons on its base, he disappeared into little more than water-like ripples in the air.

A Stealth Boy. Remi had collected only a few of these throughout his travels in the Mojave, and near never found an appropriate time to use them, being such a rare and unusual item as they were. This particular situation was a rare exception of that _near never, _and a clever one, at that. Though, smart as it was, Remi only had the one, which, in short, meant he would have to evade Legion troops and find a way out of The Fort in a two-minute time span. With his heart still beating like a pre-war car motor, Remi whipped around to Joshua, who by now was entirely still aside from shallow, wheezy breaths filling and deflating his lungs. Most of his wounds had stopped bleeding, some only because of sand caked inside of them, though his wider gashes still continued to further stain his skin red. Remi kneeled down in front of Joshua and carefully put his arms around him, enveloping him into his stealth field, and picked him up off the ground. He held Joshua carefully and in both arms, his legs slung over one arm while the other wrapped around his shoulders, looping his hand under an arm to hold against his ribcage, careful not to harm him any further. By now, he was barely hanging onto life as it was.

Remi's fingers tightened around Joshua, nearly poking nails into his skin, as he was- admittedly- terrified. The Courier, legendary for his fearless demeanor, was genuinely, purely _afraid; _not quite for himself, wrong move, and it meant not only his life, but Joshua's as well. The man who he'd wrongfully and unintentionally pulled into this mess. As the Legion soldiers scrambled to recollect themselves, Remi began scaling the walls of the arena toward the exit, quietly inching along the dirt. Only a few Decanus soldiers had began searching for Remi and Joshua, as the others were still too enveloped in a panicked slur to've noticed or even simply given a damn. As Remi neared the opening to the arena, the bright and large armor of the Centurion caught his eyes. As he slipped away, he stole a glance at the dead solider in the dirt, his mask half-fallen from his face. He could see the commander's very flesh had been replaced by a glowing green sludge, product of the plasma grenade's corrosive properties. Which, speaking off, the empty steel husk of the weapon lie lightless at the dead Centurion's feet. What an astounding death for such an undeserving man.

After Remi had made his way out of the arena and off to the side of the crowd undetected, he took a glance behind him to assure that the Legionaries hadn't gotten hold of his scent yet, so to speak. They were now regrouping under the command of a Decanus and presumably beginning a search for Remi and Joshua, though they were no where near finding the two yet in the condition they were in. Many of the soldiers who weren't dead or incapacitated were too terrified or in shock to obey their higher-ups, scattering around the camp in a disorganized mess. Some were even running off for medical supplies, which the remaining Primes and Decanuses tried to detour.

Past the cluster of red, past the arena, something grabbed Remi's pale blue eyes that kept him from continuing onward from the gates of the arena, held his feet in the dirt like steel weights for but a moment. A bright, shining gold pendant, outstanding and pronounced against black fur. One that reminded him of the one Joshua had, however was brighter and grander, baring a different insignia. One that was pinned to the garb of Caesar.

A bright light shining onto the hill atop which his tent stood prevented Remi from catching sight of the tyrant's face, blurring his vision, however he did see but a glimpse of the man stepping forward, overlooking his troops, with two other unidentifiable figures by his side. One tall and broad, definitely clad in metal armor, and the other shorter and lanky. Despite his curiosity, fear and the pressure to continue moving onward tore Remi's eyes away. As Remi turned away, he felt the uneasy feeling sinking into the pit of his stomach that somebody had been looking back at him. Caesar.

He disregarded the prospect, convincing himself it was his own paranoia, and started on his way down to the docks of The Fort, beginning to do so in a low crouched position, as Legionaries running for aid and better weapons passed him by. As he went, a couple snarling Legion mongrels passed him by, following their masters with obedient, bloodshot eyes. He felt a shiver race down his spine, the thought of dogs catching his scent or that of Joshua's blood creeping into his mind.

When he managed past the drawbridge into the lower part of camp, he lifted up into a full standing position, now away from the hoards, and started running. Not walking, not jogging, _running. _Frantic and fast-paced, enough so to make Joshua's limp body jolt at each pound of his feet onto dirt. He knew he only had a limited amount of time to escape before the Stealth Boy wore out and the Legionaries spotted him. He only hoped that the device lasted until he reached the docks and that the soldiers would keep to the upper part of camp, restricting their search to the arena and the many tents surrounding it.

Remi quickly made his way down the hill atop which the upper camp sat, keeping to the edge of the trail in case of any stray Legionaries or hounds made their way onto the path. The only people occupying the trail for the time being, however, were slaves dressed in dirty clothes, carrying large sacks of supplies on their backs. Too busy working and daydreaming about the most creative, cruel ways to kill their owners to notice any sound Remi made as he moved. Several times on his trek, Remi nearly tripped over his own feet and toppled over, product of how fast he ran downhill, though every time he caught himself, miraculously, for concern of dropping Joshua kept him on-edge and extremely light on his feet. Generally, Remi was never this light and agile, though it was near undoubtably the adrenaline seeping into his veins that gave his feet that added finesse.

At the bottom of the trail, Remi skidded in the dirt as he stopped to regain his bearings, eyes darting around the lower camp. Moving so quickly and with so much blood pulsing through him as his heart beat at such a fast rate, Remi's vision seemed to be slurring together into one huge, fast-moving, unfocused mass. Everything that his eyes didn't need or have reason to focus on rendered insignificant and felt as if it wasn't even there, fading into unacknowledged background. Remi was quick to lock his eyes onto the main gates to The Fort, their immense scrap metal walls catching the attention of his blue eyes, leading back out to the riverside where boats await. In front of the gate, the usual ferryman still stood watch, arms crossed over his chest. He doubled as a guard, and had likely decided to stay here rather than attend the event and eventual fox chase around the arena. Smart; especially for a Legionary of his low ranking.

Remi's brows furrowed and he crouched low once again, hugging Joshua's body against his chest and fastening his arms around him, hands clutched tight against his skin, outrightly nervous in the way he did so. Remi drew in a long inhale, let out a slow, shaky exhale, and began walking. Slow, steady, and careful. As there were no other men, slaves, nor dogs around the front gate, every time Remi's feet touched the ground, he felt as if he could hear it. Feel its subtle vibrations course through his body. In comparison to the still Earth around him and the still body in his arms, he felt as if he were an earthquake rattling the Mojave. He wondered if the ferryman could feel him, too, or if all that which he felt was nothing more than his paranoia taking a hard swing at his senses.

With his eyes deadlocked on the Legion solider at the gate, Remi crept his way closer, being ever so cautious of each inch he progressed. He moved his feet in a practiced motion, working in slow patterns; one foot placed gently in front of the other and so on. Each step carried the same force, progressed the same distance, moved the rest of his body the same way- all in routine-like, smooth motions. Eventually, Remi was within ten feet of the gate. Freedom and safety for Graham and himself was just on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be tasted.

Remi drew back a dry, nervous swallow. One wrong move, he'd alert the guard. Alert the guard, alert the entire Legion. This one man- the avoidance of this one man- could be the final decision if Remi and Joshua were to escape. Remi shifted off to the side of the gates, toward a collection of empty recruit tents, and gently set Joshua inside one of the Brahmin-skin shelters, onto a worn bedroll. As Remi took his hands away, Joshua came loose of his stealth field and lie visible on the mat. Although uneasy about this, Remi had enough wisdom to know it was unlikely he be found inside one of the many, many Legion tents in the area.

After moving back in front of the gate, Remi picked up a stone from off the dry earth below. A smooth, round, and flat one. About three inches long, one and a half inches wide. If the circumstances as to why he'd picked it up were drastically different, it might've made a hell of a skipping rock. Remi flipped the stone into a comfortable position in his hand, drew in a deep breath, and pulled back his arm. Then swinging it forward, he threw the rock about fifty or so feet left of the gate, where it slammed against a scrap-metal wall and echoed a loud _clang _around the lower camp_._

The guard's eyes snapped upward and he tore a pistol from his belt, immediately shifting it into two hands and fixing a finger on the trigger. Remi held his breath as he watched. The ferryman began to stalk in the direction of the metallic bang, slow and steady at first. Remi picked up a smaller, rounder rock from the dirt and threw it roughly in the same direction. This one missed the metal walls, however offered a moderate _thump_ as it hit solid dirt. The Legionary's hand squeezed around his gun and he trotted off to the direction of the noise, looking as if he were ready to kill. Remi gave a hard exhale and immediately made his way back to Joshua.

Lying limp, no different from how Remi left him, he picked Joshua up off the bedroll and adjusted him back into his arms. It came as a great comfort to Remi to wrap his hand around Joshua's torso, under his arm, and feel warmth spread through his palm. Still alive. As Remi lifted Joshua off the mat and began to turn for the tent's triangular exit, he heard a quiet _tap_ of an object hitting the fabric. Being paranoid and ill at ease as it was, his eyes darted back to investigate the sound. Heart already beating and hands already beginning to quiver with fear of having been discovered, Remi felt himself sigh deeply as he turned to find an inanimate gold pendant lying on the bedroll. The Legion medal Joshua had found; the Frumentarii one. It'd fallen out of his back pocket.

Holding Joshua tighter against him with one arm, Remi reached down with the other to scoop up the bronze pendant and shove it into the pocket of his jacket before returning his hand to Graham. Now with hardly a minute left on his Stealth Boy, Remi arose from the tent and stood, jogging to the gates. Placing one hand on the sun-warmed metal to push it open, Remi took one last glance behind him to check for Legion, and exited The Fort. As the door slowly opened, he cringed and clenched his teeth as a blood-chilling metallic screech filled his ears. He could only hope the ferryman hadn't heard.

Remi's heart again sped up its pace and he stumbled away from the door, not bothering to push it back closed as he feared for both the attention of the guard and the disintegrating time left on the Stealth Boy. In front of him, Remi's eyes shot around the water's edge, scanning the rickety pre-war boardwalks for boats. Only two were present. Both would suffice for the trip, however one looked to be filled with boxes and sacks of what was presumed to be supplies and food while the other was empty. Supplies likely all stollen from some poor town the Legion unjustly destroyed. Remi supposed there may be some salvageable medical supplies in there- or at least he'd like to think so.

Rushing over to the boat, Remi stopped beside it and lowered to one knee, reaching over and setting Joshua inside, back upright against a box. Just as he did so and Remi began to retract his hands, and soft buzzing emanated from his wrist, filling his ears, and his blanket of invisibility evaporated. His heart skipped a beat. Now he was running on borrowed time. When that guard returned and noticed the gate open, no doubt he'd see Remi now. And if not now, he'd be able to spot the boat as it exited the dock.

Remi scrambled his way into the small wooden craft and pulled a knife from his pocket, cutting the rope tying it to shore and shoving off into the water fast as he could. After doing so, he picked up a single paddle left atop a few crates and sat between two boxes, while Joshua lie propped up against a crate behind him. Eyes frantically flicking between The Fort and open water, Remi started to paddle. Not straight out, but at an angle, looping around the side of Fortification Hill so that no Legionaries would be able to spot them as they left. If they left in a straight line from the fort, it would be easy to spot them from the front gates. However, if they left by cutting around The Fort, none would be able to immediately see them over the tall metal walls surrounding the encampment.

Paddling fast as he could and already causing his knuckles and biceps to grow sore, Remi made his way out into open water and away from the Legion sanctuary. As the image of the nightmarish settlement grew further and further into the distance, the heavy feeling weighing down his chest began to lift, finally. They'd successfully escaped.

Though, yet still, another situation held that uneasy feeling resting in the pit of Remi's stomach in place, and it sat just behind him. Joshua. His condition, at that. He may have stopped bleeding, but that didn't disregard the sheer amount of blood he'd already lost. Remi paddled another hour, until The Fort was merely a dot on the horizon, before he set the paddle aside and turned to face Graham, legs crossed. He sighed and cringed at the sight, finally being able to slow himself down and take all of it in; every gruesome, painful detail. Joshua was covered in bruises, welts, scabs and open, wet gashes. Most of which may even become scars. A heavy, deeply imbedded guilt welled up in Remi's throat, bringing a red color to his eyes. He forced himself to look away, down toward the still and glassy water below them. Furrowing his brows and taking in a deep breath, Remi pulled his Kings jacket off his shoulders. Though the leather exterior would offer little more than warmth, the inside had a lining of soft, absorbent fabric. He leaned over to Joshua, put a hand behind his back, and pushed him forward. Remi then wrapped the piece of clothing around Joshua's waist, covering the largest gash on his abdomen, and tied the sleeves tight to keep it in place.

It was no Stimpak, but at least it'd keep that wound from getting any worse. It was also the most Remi could do for the time being, and it came as no surprise he was desperate to do just about_ anything_ to help Joshua. Carefully setting Joshua back upright and leaning back in his own makeshift seat, Remi sighed. Joshua's eyes were still closed, and his chest was still moving with shallow, slow breaths. Remi could only hope he'd make it through the night on their trip back. He wouldn't sleep for the reason, too. Joshua had been drained of not only his blood, but his strength; physical and mental.

Later into the night, after Remi had taken up paddling for another couple hours and eventually took another break, he'd turned himself sideways in the canoe and let his legs dangle off the side, watching the setting sun over the Mojave ahead. Behind him, Joshua now sit up against multiple _emptied_ crates. Remi had rummaged through them, tossing any items he didn't care for out of the boat altogether. He'd been searching for chems and medical supplies, though all he came up with was some boxed pre-war food and Sunset Sarsaparilla bottles.

Letting a long sigh pass his lips, Remi hunched forward as his eyes fixated on the orange-pink sky above. For the wastelands, tonight was a truly stunning sunset. Usually, the atmosphere above glowed a sickly golden tan when the sun sank below the mountains. Tonight, on the contrary, the sky was marbled with warm, comforting colors, kissed by the amber light of the sun beyond and that of the Lucky 38 off in the distance. Remi took a short glance back at Joshua before returning to the sky. His skin glowed a soft tan-orange color where it bore burn scars, and the sticky semi-dried blood left on his body glistened in the light.

"It's really a pretty night out tonight, y'know," he said, knowing Joshua couldn't hear him, however not quite caring. Awake or not, Joshua might not've said anything in return regardless. "Bet it'd even rival Zion's." He grinned and turned to look back at Joshua one last time. "I know you wouldn't agree if you could see it, though."

After the sunset had passed, the night was starless and unsettling as it always was in the Mojave. Dark and welcoming to the creatures that dwelled in such. A beacon to all that was unnerving in the wastelands. Remi still sat in the same position, only more slouched, staring up at the pale olive moon. "I'm sad you had to miss that sunset," he muttered, beginning to sway his fingers through the water below, disrupting the reflection of the sky on the water. After those words, Remi took a pause and drew in a long inhale, pursing his lips. After what was nearly a minute, he looked back at his dying comrade, eyes pale, crystal clear, and sincere. "I'm sorry."

Mid-day. The sun was high in the desert sky and casting light in thin slivers through the cracks in a poorly build wooden shack, lighting Remi's fatigued face in warm streaks. He sat hunched over a desk, Joshua's limp arm in front of him while Graham himself lie in a bed next to the desk, while he sewed a cut in his bicep shut. Blood beaded where the needle poked, dripped onto Remi's fingers, though Joshua gave no reactions nor even mere flinches. Still unconscious. Five days later. After successfully sewing the wound, Remi neatly tied the string and reached over to a bottle of vodka beside him. Medical alcohol was a rare thing in the wastes, so most of its inhabitants, including some _esteemed_ doctors, used close drinkable relatives. Remi pulled the cork out with his teeth and poured the liquid over the wound, watching as wet blood slid off Joshua's skin with it. He then grabbed a towel, dried Joshua's arm, and reached for a roll of bandage setting next to him on the desk.

After Remi and Joshua paddled their way to the Nevada side of the Colorado River, Remi took Joshua to the only save haven he had left that he knew would keep him entirely hidden and off any- all- radars. With an old friend of his that he once saved from a prison-like situation, now living not too far outside Freeside as a man who holds a neutral party label like no NCR ever could: Raul Tejada. A ghoul, a mechanic, a gunslinger, and a good friend. He was more than happy to allow Remi to use his shack as a temporary shelter, despite its highly limited size and shabby demeanor.

Five days ago, when Remi showed up at Raul's door, he found his friend reddened and baked by the Mojave sun, panting, and carrying an unconscious Joshua Graham in his arms. Still wrapped in his Kings jacket. Raul didn't know nor recognize Graham, though he showed no objection to letting him in his home, as his immediate assumption was that a friend of Remi's is a friend of his. Additionally, Joshua was in such terrible shape, even if he was hostile to Raul, there was nothing he could do to hurt him that wouldn't be hurting himself.

Remi exhaled deeply through his nose as he finished binding a clean white bandage around Joshua's bicep, tucking it neatly and clipping a small pin to the end of it to keep it in place. He then carefully lifted his companion's arm and set it back by his side, taking the time to adjust it into a place where, if he were to wake up today, it wouldn't be uncomfortable to him. Remi did that sort of thing every day when he tended to Joshua's wounds. He seemed to have this sort of.. hope; expectation; that Joshua was going to wake up that day. He never did. Not yet.

Raul, however, would never stop him. He didn't have the heart to.


	10. Chapter 9

_Greetin's, all. Hope everybody's still doing well. I apologize for this chapter being a little late, but I still hope everybody enjoys! Really excited for writing Chapter 10. I'd like to think it's a bit of a milestone for Halfmoon. I'm glad to see the story's carried out this far, and I hope to keep writing it all the way through to the end._

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The first week came and passed like a light summer's rain over the Mojave; quick, and so small and insignificant, it could pass you by as easily as a blink of an eye. After the second week dawned and Joshua still lie unconscious, Raul's concern for the man's survival grew, while Remi only seemed to become progressively more determined to have Joshua's wounds healed by the time he supposedly would awake. This, as well, raised concern to the ghoul mechanic. He worried about how Remi would take the news if Joshua were to never see another sunset like the one over the Colorado just two weeks ago.

About 6:30AM, Remi sat on the top of Raul's shack with his legs dangling over the edge of an awning, a half-empty bottle of Sunset Sarsaparilla clutched in his right hand while the left rested in his lap. His eyes were glued to the horizon as he watched the sun slowly peek its head over the Wasteland and gradually spread its warm light across the dry land. This became a habit of Remi's; watching the sunrise. Alone, for the most part, as Raul was usually either still sleeping or heading out to Freeside for supplies this early in the morning. Remi sighed as he watched the light soak the pale sand of the Mojave, its yellow glow serving as a natural alarm for the people of the desert to wake and begin their days.

It served a similar purpose for Remi. He used the sun as a cue throughout his day; before the sun rose, he awoke to head up onto the roof, and after the sun settled in the sky, he went off to replace Joshua's bandages. At noon, he helped Raul around the shack granted the ghoul himself asked for it, even going as far as assisting in repairing weapons for him. Mid-afternoon, he checked Joshua again, often making sure he wasn't lying in any uncomfortable position despite his inability to feel such. At sunset, he returned to the roof with a flask of whisky, and finally, after darkness filled the sky, he settled in for the night and slept. Or, tried to, at least. This was how it was every day now, and his routine was beginning to become more and more natural to him as he got more so adjusted to beginning and ending his days to it for nearly two weeks.

He often wondered if this was how life had gotten for Joshua. Waking up and doing the exact same thing every day, and falling asleep with the knowledge tomorrow would be no different. With the exception, however, that Remi always went off to bed with a hope that the next day would be different, and that Joshua would be there to greet him when he next awoke with a look of forgiveness in his eyes. If he slept, that was. Often times Remi would stay up in his bed with a flask while thoughts swirled around in his mind, periodically watching Joshua with uncertain eyes as he hoped to see him stir and sit up in his bed at any moment. Thus far, such a hope hadn't payed off to Remi yet, though he was never willing to give it up. Through all of his many faults, one of his outstanding triumphs was his determination and sense of optimism.

About 7:30AM, Remi found his bottle empty and the sun high in the sky. Time to tend to Joshua. With a little puff of breath and sigh, he hopped down from the roof onto the ground and tossed his Sarsaparilla bottle into a metal bucket by the door filled with many others like it. After deciding he was coming up to watch the sunrise with a drink every morning, he'd put that there so he even had a routine way of discarding emptied bottles. Inside Raul's shack, the wooden home was dimly lit by streams of sunlight passing through gaps in the wooden plank walls and a single lamp sitting on Raul's desk. On the far left side of the room, two beds and a bedroll set side-by-side, closely tucked against one another in their small space. One bed against the leftmost wall, while the other lie horizontal to that, and the bedroll set down on the floor beside the one more prominently against the wall.

In the leftmost bed, Joshua lie on his back, completely still, with his arms set neatly at his sides. Remi passed a disappointed sigh as he entered the shack to see this, as it was exactly what he'd come inside to yesterday. Still unconscious, still not moving an inch, but still alive nevertheless. Remi grabbed a chair from Raul's desk and slid it beside Joshua's bed, backward, and straddled it as he took a seat. This way he could use the back of the chair as a rest for his arms; like a makeshift desk. Beside Joshua's bed was a small nightstand where Remi kept all of his medical supplies, from which he grabbed a bottle of vodka and a roll of clean gauze bandage.

Gently taking hold of Joshua's arm, he set one hand under his bicep to hold it up while the other hand unraveled old bandages from his wound. Underneath, Remi was met with several thin whip welts and a thick scabbed over gash, all which, despite their size and varying severities, lacked the reddened surrounding skin that would serve as evidence of infection. Remi made damn sure to meticulously keep Joshua's injuries clean.

Tossing the old bandage into a small rusted waste bucket beside Joshua's bed, Remi began to unravel clean bandage from the roll he held and started to tightly wind the white mesh around Joshua's wounds, layering the fabric several times before ripping it from its roll and pinning it down against Joshua's arm with a small, bronze clothing pin. After he did so, he gently set and adjusted Graham's arm by his side, even going as far as to move his fingers so that they weren't cocked in odd directions or twining around one another.

After checking Joshua's arm over once again to be sure his work was satisfactory, Remi stood from his chair and swung it back over to Raul's desk, no longer in need of it. He took the roll of bandages and slipped his hand through the spool, resting it on his wrist, and clutched the bottle of vodka in his hand. After doing so, he took one hand under Joshua's shoulders and pushed him forward, arching his upper body upward enough for him to shift into a seat behind him on his bed, sitting on his pillows. With his legs lied straight outward and at either of Joshua's sides, he took his hand away and let Joshua fall limp, thudding against Remi with his back propped up against him and head to his chest. Remi grumbled quietly. Sometimes he found working with Joshua was like working with a huge, muscular ragdoll.

Setting his vodka by his side, Remi set both palms to Joshua's shoulder blades and pushed his body forward until Joshua slumped forward, back hunching and head hanging down. "I'm really glad you at least can't complain when you're sleepin'," Remi muttered, sliding his hands down to Joshua's lower back, where a large span of bandages covered the vast majority of his torso. "Not that _you_ complain all that much, anyway." These bandages covered not only numerous whip lashes, but the gash in Joshua's stomach that'd nearly killed him. That thing probably bled out a half to a whole liter of dark red fluid, at the least. It was a nasty, nasty wound, and rose the most concern for Remi in regards to Joshua's recovery.

This set of bandages took Remi nearly a minute to fully unravel and remove from Joshua, having spanned from just below his chest all the way down to his hip line. After the layer of white mesh was removed, Remi slid the entire length of it through his hands, brows furrowed and eyes intent. He stopped as a faint, faded crimson staining the material caught his eye. It was barely visible, and that's how Remi wanted it. He checked for bleeding every day, as a way to tell him if Joshua's stitches were still in tact, and used the bandage as manner of giving him such answers. A faint, transparent mark such as this meant Josh was alright. There was only to be concern if deep, rich red painted the white bandaging.

Sighing through his nose and tossing those bandages, massed into a sloppy ball, into the waste bucket, Remi took the bottle of vodka back into his hand by its neck. Popping the cork out with his teeth, he spit it out onto the sheets and used one hand to pull Joshua's body against him, leaning his back against Remi's chest. Leaning himself over Graham, Remi reached a hand over Joshua's torso and gently poured a stream of warm alcohol onto his widest, stitched up gash. Keeping it clean the best way he knew how. Remi gave a little sigh as he watched the clear liquid dribble down Joshua's skin.

"I know you're probably a whisky kind'a guy, Josh, but _this_ is some damn good vodka. A real throat-burner. Third bottle of it, too, and this shit tends to get expensive," he complained, speaking to Joshua despite his outright knowledge that Joshua couldn't hear him. He liked to speak to Graham regardless, however, as he liked to think the former Legate was somehow acknowledging him. It kept him held down and believing Joshua was still there at all. "I really spoil you, y'know. Hope 'ya know that," he commented, leaning back once again, slumping Joshua forward as he did so, and taking the vodka to his lips for a sip before re-corking it and setting it on Joshua's nightstand.

After putting the vodka away, Remi took the clean roll of bandages into his hands and started to unwind them, wrapping them around Joshua's lower back and pelvis first and gradually progressing upward 'till he was up to his ribcage in white. Remi doubled the layering several times over his worst wound, and broke the rope of meshed fabric off between his shoulder blades, using another clothing pin to hold it down. After running his fingers over the wraps several times to make sure there were no creases or uneven areas, he leaned back to admire his work and gave Joshua a short, hardy little pat on the back. He grinned.

"Well, all done, buddy. I'll get to your other arm and legs after noon rolls around," he said, picking himself up and stepping off Joshua's bed, then laying him back down, careful to set his head comfortably on his pillow and keep his neck angled nice and properly. Wouldn't want Josh to wake up with a sore back, right? Remi figured as much. Though, nice prospect as that was, it seemed to be slipping his mind entirely that Joshua's pillows shared their comforting responsibilities with Remi's ass.

By now, it was late morning, and Remi found himself with nothing to do until it came time to tend to Joshua's other injuries. With a sigh and incoherent grumble, he flopped down in the chair at Raul's desk and slumped over with his hands in his lap. Staring at the broken up metal pieces and machinery scattered about the ghoul mechanic's desk. This was how every day in which Raul was absent came to be for Remi since he and Joshua had come to Raul. As Remi was too paranoid of Joshua waking up and being alone, Remi stayed in Raul's shack every hour of the day, and found himself with with nary a thing to go about doing without Raul's provided instruction. Granted, he could always try his hand at repairing and building things, though Remi never took much interest in that, as he often broke what he aimed to fix. Raul never took much interest in that, either.

Grunting through his nose after at least a minute of staring at the desk he'd practically mapped out by this time, Remi set his chin on the rusted metal furniture with an audible _thump. _It wasn't comfortable setting his head like that, no, but it required less effort than sitting up. With eyes peering around at all of the items he already knew every inch of, Remi drew his hands up to the desk, setting his chin on one forearm which he tucked under his jaw while the other hand went to tinker with a busted fusebox lying but inches from his face. Twining wires around his fingers, Remi watched as the moving metal glistened and shined in the thin sunlight hitting it, playing with angles and differing degrees of reflectiveness. Using this is as makeshift entertainment.

After minutes passes and Remi remained unmoved in his position, his head leaned lazily against his arm as he continued to play with copper wires, even going as far as testing pricking his fingers at their broken ends, trying to find just how hard he could poke without drawing blood. Bearing in mind Remi did these sorts of things nearly every day, each and every one of his fingertips were dotted with little pokes and pricks, each given to him by idle experimentation with metal wires. It never seemed to come to that Remi he should learn better than to prick his fingers, as he was fully aware of what he was doing, and that it was the simple prospect that he didn't care. If anything, the little welling drops of blood that the wire prods caused kept him vaguely entertained.

As morning faded into noon and Remi still tinkered with wires, he'd eventually fallen into a limp position at the desk, putting no effort into holding his own weight. His head lie on its side against his arm, and his fingers set uncoiled against the desk as he lacked even the mere effort of balling them into loose fists. The fingers messing with wires eventually stopped doing so and simply cupped around the fusebox, his eyes idly watching as the angle of sunlight hitting copper slowly, subtly shifted as the sun moved in the sky above. A familiar sight. Yellow, warm light to metal, striking it in different mannerisms as the sun crawled down its eternally fixed path in the sky.

Oh, and what a comfortable thing familiar sights such as this were. Comfortable enough to put Remi to sleep, his mind losing focus and the will to hold him up and awake just as his body already had.

Mid-afternoon rolled around like tumbleweed on the empty Mojave roads, and the sky began to tint pale pink as sunset grew dauntingly closer. With the day beginning to meet its later hours, Remi still lie at Raul's desk, quietly snoring in a shallow sleep. The light on his wires had left, and the copper was rendered a dark, rustic brown as it was met with the uncanny darkness native to Raul's shack. This lightless atmosphere didn't last much longer as the door to the mechanic's shack swung open and evening light flooded into the room, spilling over Remi's face and wrapping his skin in unwelcome warmth. He furrowed his brows and grumbled under his breath, though didn't quite wake as he turned his head opposite to the light, persisting in his nap a little longer.

Raul stood at the doorway to his home with a wooden box of scrap metal parts in his hands, stepping inside and giving his eyes a roll as he caught sight of Remi outed at his desk. Not the first time he'd caught him like this. He kicked the door closed as he entered his shack and set down his heavy wooden crate with a loud _thump_, one which sent a vibration through his desk that forced Remi to groan and tuck his head tighter into the arm upon which it sat. Raul huffed and chuckled under his breath at Remi's stubbornness.

He gave The Courier's shoulder a couple taps to get his attention, then cupped his hand around that same shoulder, leaning a little closer so Remi'd hear him better before he spoke, "hey, boss, don't forget about your friend before you catnap on my desk," he commented, walking past him to the other side of his room as Remi immediately perked up, eyes widening with the realization and reminder that he hand't tended to Joshua's other injuries at noon, like he'd said he would. Like he always did. Raul grinned as he peeked behind him to see Remi scrambling up from his desk and over to Joshua. He knew, if anything, that'd be the one thing to wake him up.

Remi quickly picked up his roll of bandages and threw his chair into a backward position by Joshua's bed, straddling it like he had this morning as he went to work. Remi found himself all but baffled and in a place of unfamiliarity now. He never forgot to tend to Joshua's wounds; not once throughout his time here in Raul's home. This was the first time he'd broken routine, and he felt an odd guilt because of it. He felt, somehow, despite Joshua being unconscious, Joshua's appreciation for perfect timing and daily rituals still persisted and applied to each every day.

Remi put his hand through the spool of bandage, hanging it off his wrist, as he reached his hand over to a patch of bandage covering a wound on Graham's collarbone which had masking tape keeping it in place rather than a clothing pin, as this bandage didn't loop all the way around his body and was simply several strips layered over a wide cut. He gave a slow sigh as he set his hand on the white fabric, eyes drifting to Joshua's closed eyes for a moment, "Sorry I'm a little late, Josh, I guess I needed some extra sleep today," he apologized meanwhile pealing off the wound's dressing. Once off, he tossed it into the waste bin and went to unraveling clean bandage from his spool, eyes moving to the hand which did so.

As he ripped a piece of clean gauze off and returned to Joshua, he set one hand against his chest to hold him steady as the other hand went to place the fabric strip. As fingers pressed into Joshua's skin, he felt a faint twitch below his fingertips, like tiny tremors in the earth, though nothing quite enough to get his attention. That happened often. To Remi, all it meant was that he'd poked a sensitive nerve or something of that likeness with his fingernail. After laying down the first strip of bandage and layering it several times, he turned away from Joshua to grab a roll of medical tape from the nightstand.

Returning to Graham, he pulled a short piece of tape from the roll and bit it loose, taping the end to his fingertip before connecting it to white mesh and skin. As he did so, he pressed into Joshua's skin, and was met with another faint twitch. Presumably, this was a sensitive area of Joshua's body, as his collarbone, after all, had been fractured and badly damaged. It was all to be expected that Joshua's body would twitch and contract at harsh pokes and prods. Unconscious or not, his body and each of its nerves still operated as they always would.

As Remi finished dressing the collarbone wound to his own standards of neatness, he gave a faint sigh and looked back to Joshua's closed eyes, a short grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he did so. "You're lucky you have me to be your doctor," he said, "Raul'd probably just fuck you up even worse," he chuckled, passing a grin back to the ghoul of interest, who had shrugged off the comment from his desk despite having heard Remi. "What d'you think?" He asked, eyes turning back to Joshua. He paused a moment, as if either fantasizing some reply for Joshua or forcing himself to acknowledge he still couldn't say anything in return.

"Yeah. I think I'm a pretty good doctor, too," he replied to himself, going about turning to the nightstand for his bottle of vodka meanwhile. Next he would be tending to a harsh whip's cut on Joshua's thigh, which he'd had to sew, and thus he needed to clean similarly to the gash on Joshua's stomach. As he took hold of the glass bottle in one hand, he pulled the cork out with the other and took a quick swig before turning back around to Joshua. Remi thought it was only fair for him to get some share of the vodka, too, as he'd bought it, after all. For twenty caps a bottle, who couldn't argue?

Before Remi would go about scooting his chair further down so that he could tend to Graham's wounded thigh, he grinned as he remarked, "now, this is gonna sting a little, but I know you ain't one given to complaining anyway, so we should be fine," he said, glancing between the bottle in his hand to Joshua's relaxed, unconscious expression. Then, Remi took his eyes away as he was about to stand to move his chair a couple feet down toward the end of the bed, though something, something very particular and out of routine, stopped him. Something he'd only thought he'd imagined and had to double-check in the span of a split second before he went back to his work. He thought he'd caught a glimpse of that iconic slate blue native to Joshua Graham's eyes.

Frozen with the opened vodka bottle in his hand, Remi's wide eyes went to investigate, hopeful though anything but expecting to actually see Joshua awake. This wasn't the first time Remi thought he'd seen such a thing as Graham's familiar gaze; in fact, this happened often. Remi hoped and expected him to wake up every day, and so much so that he would occasionally imagine such hopes being fulfilled. Though, as he became painfully aware, this'd never yet come to be true.

As pale blue eyes looked over the face of the man he'd nearly killed, he was met with-

Gray. A colorless, flat, and dead tone of colorlessness that seemed as if it were a void, absorbing and devouring light rather than reflecting it. A wide, tired iris of gray, encircling a small pupil black as the night. As light streaming through the window over Joshua's bed cast onto the ring of color, a fleck of faint blue glistened within the strings of pale shades. Joshua's eyes; alive, but as dead as Remi'd ever seen them. And, as their slate color began to sink in, as furious as he'd ever seen them, too. Ready to reach out and latch onto Remi's neck, choking him until he felt nothing more than regret for the lies he'd said.


	11. Chapter 10

_Hello, everyone! Let me start this chapter off by apologizing for the late update, but I've recently run into a rough patch as I'm having to readjust to a busy lifestyle again and haven't been handling that all too well. I hope to keep the bi-weekly updates steady from now on._

_As a note and point of reference to my readers, this chapter of the story is either a one-third or one-half mark. In any case, hooray! Ten chapters! I hope we double that. Happy reading._

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A sudden spark of warmth filled Remi's chest, swelling 'till he could feel it spilling out of his skin and soaking him like morning sunlight. Despite Joshua's blatant anger displayed in his eyes, in that sudden moment he'd taken a sharp puncture wound of relief and happiness to the warming pit in his chest, one from the sole conclusion in his mind that Joshua had made it. Made it through the darkness thrust upon him, and had seen light again as his eyes opened. Alive.

What his eyes opened to see, however, drove Remi's comforting happiness to only last a split second as a thick fog plumed over the light filling Joshua's pale irises. The sight of Remi made Graham's gaze anything but pleased nor relieved, and reflect only anger and betrayal. Disgust, even. Perhaps, rather than Remi, all Joshua saw was the face of the man who handed him and one of his valued men- his family members- to the Legion, and without even a blink of the eye, as far as he was concerned. And, as he had once learned and even taught, one never leaves a face of betrayal without bruises and scars to remind them of their wrongdoings. Lunging forward despite a shooting pain infesting his torso, Joshua took a swing at Remi's face with his right first, catching the brunette off-guard.

With a shocked gasp, Remi stumbled backward, falling onto the floor, as he jolted to avoid the attempted hit. Due to his physical condition in comparison to Joshua's, Remi sustained no damage and had avoided the punch successfully, however did receive a nasty hit to his shoulder-blades as his back slammed into the wooden floor beneath him. He grunted and writhed his spine upward and away from the splintering ground. From the floor, his pale eyes, wide and hurt, stared up at Joshua who struggled up in his bed. As he did so, Remi began to scramble from the ground, however didn't quite make it to his feet as Joshua's heavier and better muscled body tackled him back down, pinning him with his legs straddled at Remi's hips and hands curled into the collar of his shirt. A bright, though seemingly ever dimming fire burned in Joshua's irises as he stared at the man under him.

Yanking Remi's head closer up to his, the Courier held his breath as he stared down two slate eyes which made him fear more for his life than the single hollow eye of a loaded gun's barrel. Though it felt quiet behind the sound of his heart beating in his chest, he swore he could hear the faint furious growling emanating from the back of Joshua's throat. Then, in an instant, the uneasy eye contact was broken as Joshua shoved Remi backward, slamming his head against the floor, then standing and tugging him up with him. Easily, as Remi didn't resist Joshua's physical demands. He knew how easily Joshua would be hurt, however he also knew just how determined and blindly furious he must be. Better not to get him even angrier with resistance and end up breaking something else.

With eyes once again locking, Graham was met with apologetic, afraid, and sky-blue eyes matched by familiar unraveled brown hair which had fallen out of place throughout his beating. He paused a moment, as if recognizing the look in his eyes, having familiarity pierce his sternum and prod his heart, though his expression remained unhindered regardless. Nothing Remi could do would detour Joshua.

Standing now, albeit weakly, Graham struggled to hold his own weight up as even in this instant of pure anger, Joshua's legs were shaking. It came as some sort of a miracle that he was able to stand at all. Letting Remi go and shoving him back by his collar, Remi took another step toward the back wall of the shack and held out a single hand to Joshua, palm flat and facing him, gesturing for him to stay still and stop.

"Stop, Joshua, please-" he begged, beginning another plead just before Joshua lunged with his fist again, only to have his knuckles caught in Remi's palm at impeccable ease. Joshua hissed and wined under his breath, pain and frustration veining up his arm as he tried to twist his hand out of Remi's grip to no avail. He eventually let go of Joshua's hand, pushing him back, hoping to've calmed him or at least gotten the message across that there was no way he would win this fight, though came to yet another violent conclusion as Joshua took yet another swing for his head.

This swing took build-up, drawing his hand back, and as he swung forward, his body shifted with him, and he lost what unsteady balance he had in his legs and fell into Remi, managing to get a swift hit into his jaw as his body slammed into the Courier's, knees buckling. Taking the opportunity, Remi wrapped both arms around Joshua and held him tight, keeping him from falling, and despite his struggling and evident attempts at attacking once again.

"Stop!" He shouted as Joshua tried to struggle himself into a better position, attempting to switch his own and Remi's. "Joshua, please, stop, you're getting nowhere with this-"

"I'll stop once you're dead, you _lying_ bastard," he growled in return, speaking for the first time since he's awoken, voice deeper and huskier than Remi remembered it. Those words rattled Remi's vulnerable heart just enough to allow Joshua the time to punch Remi just under his rib cage, in his gut, and escape his evidently loosened grip. Stumbling backward and nearly falling if not for a nightstand which he grabbed to rebalance himself on, Joshua stood several feet from the brunette, whose eyes seemed to have some added degree of reflectiveness to them, likely from tears welling just under his eyelids. Stone-cold as Remi was, it hurt to see Joshua treating him as another target, especially after waiting and hoping to have him back for the past two weeks; fearing for his life and longing for the moment he saw those blue-gray eyes again every second. Now, Remi had become a mark and someone he'd never think of calling ally, much less friend. It hurt to see every ounce of trust he'd earned between he and Joshua be blown away with the tumbleweeds of the Mojave in an instant.

"Please-" Was all Remi could manage past his tightening throat as Joshua, this time around, aimed a high kick for Remi's chest, missing one final, fatal time as Remi evaded the attack and grabbed Joshua by his ankle. Joshua nearly fell in that single instant, though managed to keep to his feet. Or, foot, rather.

Remi sucked in a deep, pained breath. "You're making me do this," he spat through gritted teeth, and in a single moment of his natural aggression, he pulled Joshua off-balanced, letting him fall to the floor, and dropping his leg as he did so. From the ground, Graham cursed and began to struggle going about getting back up, inaudibly muttering crude things as he did so. Once he reached the position of one knee and attempted hoisting himself the remainder of the way up, a shout of pain passed his lips, one that could be heard past the thin walls of Raul's shack, and he clutched the bandage around his abdomen, falling back onto the floor.

Remi made a quiet wince under his breath as he watched Joshua holding his wound tight and in crippling pain from the ground. This was the only thing he had feared in regards to Joshua waking up. The consequences he would have to face now that Joshua knew of every secret he had chosen to hide from him throughout their time in Zion. As he took a step closer, aiming to pick Joshua up and drag him back to his bed, where he'd at least he out of harm's way, a hand grabbed him by his shoulder and pulled him backward, preventing him from getting too close. He'd jolted at the touch after having been offhandedly beaten by Joshua. His shoulders lowered and lost but an ounce of their tenseness as he turned to see Raul's rotten-flesh bound and sympathetic face staring at him. Remi sighed, drifting his eyes back to Joshua.

"He's still seein' things as they were when he passed out, boss. Y'gotta let him be for a while, you know? He just.. Needs time to wrap his head around things." He said, speaking kindly and in his smoothest tone despite the natural raspy aspect to his voice. Remi's shoulders and back slumped even further as he heard these words. He turned to look back at Raul once again, eyes dark and blatantly hurt.

"And how long's that supposed to be, Raul?" He asked. Raul gave no reply, eyes averting. He had no answer to give. Last time he'd heard a question like that, he lost the last member of his family to Raiders before he was even a Ghoul. He couldn't reply for the fact that he couldn't lie to his friend, and the truth would hurt. He couldn't bare Remi taking that additional weight on his shoulders. After Remi looked away as well, sighing deeply and shakily, he shouldered Raul's hand from him, muttering something along the lines of, "I need to at least get him off the fucking floor," as he approached the burned man on the ground. Raul didn't try to object this time. Remi was a stubborn man, and wouldn't stop no matter what he said. After all, caring for Joshua was _his_ self-implemented job. He would still cary it out no matter what.

Now, as some time had passed for Graham while Remi and Raul spoke, Joshua had at least pulled himself to sit up, though was steeply slouched and staring down at the bandages covering his body in patches. His eyes reflected no readable emotions, though it was possible all that had happened in the weeks he was unconscious was finally beginning to come to him. The thought that Remi has likely taken care of him, bandaged him, carried him from the Fort, _kept him alive.. _This all may be occurring to him, but then again, so could the thought that the mental instability and pain he had experienced back in Zion could have all been at the hand of the man he once would have gone as far as to call his most trusted, wholehearted companion.

Approaching slowly and carefully, Remi kneeled down next to Joshua, swallowing the gathering lump in his throat as Joshua's eyes side-glanced toward him, staring daggers at him. He bit along his upper lip and sucked in a breath before he spoke, reaching out a hand to Joshua as he did so, "I'm not going to hurt you. You don't have to trust me, sure, you just need to get the hell back in bed before you break something else," he said, settling for the fact that Joshua would still likely be viewing him as an enemy. A member of Caesar's Legion. A traitor.

Huffing and rejecting the idea of merely speaking to Remi, Joshua began to try to pull himself up off the ground, nearly accomplishing doing so despite legs shaking underneath him, though he evidently found his previous adrenaline-fueled strength drained to a dangerous minimum and began to stumble back to the ground, only to be caught by Remi as the blue-eyed Courier caught him by looping his arms under his shoulders, holding him up.

"Josh, I'm serious-" he grunted, beginning to drag Joshua back to his bed, where, within a few inches of, was shoved away by an elbow to the chest as Joshua lied himself back down, practically falling onto his bed as he was hardly able to stand, let alone walk. However, rather than actually lying down as he was prompted to do, he sat in a weak cross-legged position against the wall of the shack, back straight against the sheet metal and wooden walls, staring at Remi through eyes that had faded to a lifeless, tired gray. He watched closely as Remi dragged a chair from Raul's desk and slid it in front of Joshua's bed, plopping himself down in it, chair backwards, in his usual straddled position. He didn't speak to Joshua now, reflecting upon what Raul had just told him, and simply returned eye contact.

This went on for seconds, which escalated to minutes, which eventually progressed even deeper into hours. Silent, still, uneasy glaring shared between the two of them. Nothing like that they had shared back in Zion. Wordless, though without a need for words. This silence, despite his hatred for the inherit thing, Remi would bare, as he knew breaking it would bring no good. It was better to be staring in silence than to be speaking in rage. Seemingly trying to bore into one another's eyes, searching for whatever emotions or secrets they had buried underneath their natural blue and gray color. This was only broken as the Mojave sun finally rose its white flag to the moon and sank below the high canyons and mountains to the East, allowing the dark, starless sky to seep into every crack and crevice of the desert, eating away its daylight. The heavy weight of the dark enveloping the land weighted on Remi as time went on, pushing on his eyelids and his shoulders alike, and eventually persuading him into sleep.

Joshua, however, didn't sleep. Not again, not after having woken for the first time in weeks. Despite his lingering physical exhaustion, he kept awake. Reeling and pondering many things left unanswered in his mind, like just how much time he had been asleep- as he had no knowledge of this- and if Remi was, in fact, the one who had taken him all the way across the Mojave and kept his wounds from forcing him into eternal submission while he was unable to care for himself. If these things were so, he wondered on what initiative Remi had done them. Guilt, regret, care, compassion, love, mercy, impulse- There was an endless array of answers to the question, however only a small few that would be applicable to Remi and his personality and feelings in particular. He, after what had happened at the Fort, wasn't sure what handful of motives the answers were narrowed down to anymore.

In time, it may come to him. However, he found, as he thought more, he may not want to find the answer, as they would mean keeping Remi alive and staying in his company, which were two things he currently wanted no part of. To him, Remi was a stranger who had gotten him nearly killed and had Follows-Chalk still trapped in God knows where, granted he was still alive at all.

Joshua sighed and slumped his head low, holding his hands to both sides of his head. So much to think about, so many questions, yet so many limitations to what answers he could receive.

By the next morning, Joshua still sat in the same position in his bed with eyes fixated on the sleeping Courier a few feet before him. He watched him close, studying the way he moved as he slowly breathed in his sleep, the way he would occasionally jolt or twitch in his unconscious state as his dreams forced their influence into the outside world. Joshua watched with intrigue, settling upon just watching as the Ghoul at the other side of the room made any attempted attacks seem futile, and eventually finding everything Remi did oddly familiar. Nothing he did came as new to him, despite that it felt now as if he didn't even know Remi. He still knew and recognized his habits, which forced the reminder onto Joshua that this was still the same Remi he'd always known. It made him begin to ponder the possibility that Remi may have just always been a pawn of Caesar, as nothing about him seemed to've changed. Perhaps every little detail about Remi was a matter of perception.

As the sun settled in its rightful place over the Mojave, burning with life in the smoggy blue sky, Remi's shoulders raised and pushed back as he stretched his arms and yawned as he began to wake. Lifting one hand to rub his tired eyes, he sighed under his breath as his pale blues directed to Joshua, cloudy, though focused enough to settle on his unreadable face. As Joshua's slate gray irises caught Remi's, his brows furrowed, though he didn't quite look away yet. He allowed a short moment of direct eye contact pass between them before he turned his head and the direction of his gaze to the side.

Remi sat up in his chair, leaning against the back of it as he propped his elbows up on the wooden frame of his backward-turned chair. He quirked a small, subtle smile at Joshua, hopeful now that he at least wasn't swinging punches for him. "How'd I do patching you up?" He asked, nodding toward the bandages covering Joshua's abdomen as Graham passed a short glance back at him. Directing his eyes down and setting a hand gently on the wound, he let out a long exhale and slumped a bit. No reply.

Remi pursed his lips, finding it once again hard to cope with Joshua's silence. "Cause.. I think I did a pretty good job. You'd almost bled out when.. you know.. But you're a lot better now," he said, trying to sound reassuring as he tripped over the words he chose, "though I think it's gonna take a while longer before-"

"How long?"

"What?"

"How long was I asleep?" Joshua asked, voice raspy with audible exhaustion. Remi blinked with some degree of surprise as he was asked this, shocked at the notion that Joshua was talking to him at all without some sort of threat or confrontation about his past mistakes involved. Shifting in his seat, he complied with an answer.

"..Two some weeks. Almost three," he replied, watching again as Joshua shuffled in bed, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed back. Had the thought of how long he'd been away upset him, or possibly the idea that he could, at this moment, he dead and buried in the dirt somewhere?

"And Follows-Chalk? Where is he?" He asked, eyes focused on Remi's. He watched as the look in the Courier's dewy eyes melted to something bare, unguarded, and hurt. Aside what Joshua had discovered and could've assumed, there was still a lot that he hadn't been told. Such things stung Remi and pierced his skin every day.

"I don't know," Remi said, speaking quietly and shamefully as he glanced away while the words passed his lips, unable to bear whatever expression he would receive from Joshua in return. His shoulders grew higher as he heard a long inhale pass Joshua's lips, something he usually did when angry and ready to initiate a lecture, though found himself in a place of confusion as Joshua simply exhaled. Quiet. No reply.

Remi looked up once again to see Joshua in a low, beaten position against the wall, eyes angled down at the hands which he'd set in his lap. He stared at his open palms, eyes following the length of his arms up to the bandages on one bicep and one shoulder. He did this for a time, searching over the bandages covering his body once again before looking up toward Remi, whose eyes still hadn't moved from him.

"Any harm done to him, I place on your shoulders," he said, speaking low and quiet. He paused, waiting for some snappy or defensive remark to cross Remi's lips, though when none came and he was left with nothing but Remi's broken down expression, he spoke again. "Furthermore, don't you set another hand on me. What I had done yesterday was drastic, I will admit, but who is to blame me?" He questioned, then taking a short pause. "If my wounds worsen without your medical help, so be it, I would rather be at the hand of God than that of a Legionary," he growled, tone staying steady 'till the end, where he practically spat the word relating Remi to Caesar's Legion like filth in his mouth.

He stared deep and piercingly at Remi as the Courier digested his words, continuing to do so as he averted his eyes and picked himself up off his chair, throwing it back under Raul's desk with a _thud _before quickly and wordlessly leaving the small shack, slamming the door behind him. He couldn't bear to be in the company of Joshua any longer. Far too much weight had settled on his chest from finally having him back and speaking such painful things, and he would rather not say any unsavory things he'd come to regret in return.

Outside the shack, Remi immediately began trudging across the densely packed dirt underfoot, pebbles crunching under his boots, grumbling and cursing under his breath as he went, hands curled into fists at his sides and warm liquid welling just under his eyelids. Having Joshua back proved to be far too much for him to take in at one time. It was like having a lost family member or love rise from their grave, roses left on their headstone in hand, and stop only to drop them and stomp each and every pedal into the dirt 'till the only recognizable piece of the flowers left was the thorns protruding from their stems.

Drawing in a deep, shaky breath, he followed up with an open-mouthed exhale and started to walk in the direction of New Vegas. Likely not headed for The Strip itself, as the "family" gangs resident no longer interested him these days, but toward one of the small-time lowlife bars lining the ragged streets of Freeside. They were a good place to get cheap drinks by the bottle and get into fights without too bad a consequence. A good punch to the jaw accompanied by murky vodka sounded good right about now; just right to quell the swelling pain in his chest.

Back within the shack, Raul sat at his desk, back turned to Joshua, who sat with his back and head against the wall and legs bent at his knees in front of him. Setting a nimble hand against his bandaged abdomen, he jolted at a momentary stab of pain, and began to slouch in his position. He sighed, staring ahead and up at the cracking ceiling of the small home, staring at the clear sky through a hole in the rusty scrap metal building up the roof of the house. Between the last sight he remembered, being within the Legion arena, he never thought he would see such a comforting thing again. He'd thought such things were all but gone to him. Despite his pain and unrequited rage, he was thankful for his life, and what mercy he found his God must have for him. After all, there must be some greater purpose for him to have evaded death yet another time, as he saw it. And, for what mercy, whether or not he wanted to admit it, such a God bestowed on him through Remi; and for what reason?


	12. Chapter 11

_Hello, everyone! Sorry for the long wait on this chapter &amp; my absence. I hope you're all still doing well. Not too many author notes to make, however I do need to make a note that chapter updates are now **monthly** rather than bi-weekly. I'm terribly sorry, but I don't have enough time anymore and I don't want to be rushing this story. I hope you'll all still stick around!_

_Happy reading!_

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Just before the sun broke the thin glass ceiling of night, bringing the Mojave into day, Remi navigated his way back to Raul's shack with murky darkness and a cracked bottle as his only company. With dried blood caked with dust running from a cut in his lip down his chin, and an eye varnished with shades of purple, blue, and faint touches of yellow, the Courier swaggered, drunk, back to his temporary home. He grumbled and cursed as he went, ranting and mumbling to himself, and even going so far as practically tripping and shouting at a door as he caught the toe of his boot in a loose plank of wood in Raul's front porch. He stopped, collected himself, and pushed the door open, lazily turning the nob and shoving his shoulder into its wooden frame.

The pale, ashy blue of the dawning sky sept into the inky blackness of the small house as Remi entered, his boots thumping against wood being the only audible sound. Even Raul, tonight, slept quietly. Not a single snore, not even an occasional hitch of his breath; only quiet, steady breathing. Remi, still murmuring unpleasant slurred things under his breath, struggled out of his jacket, snapping it off and tossing it aside onto Raul's desk. After doing so, he practically fell into his usual chair, forcing it backward against the wood with a faint, yet still spine seizing screech. Remi leaned back in his chair, giving a long, open-mouthed exhale, and let every muscle in his body fall loose as he simply sat still, staring at the ceiling.

The ceiling, which, fell in and out of focus to Remi's hazy eyes, disoriented by his alcoholism and exhaustion. He squinted as the moon, ivory and pale as ever, stared back at him from its place in the sky through a crack in Raul's roof. It seemed like such an unpleasant thing to him in his current state of mind, glaring in the most unusually condescending of ways. Granted, near anything that wasn't alcohol seemed unpleasant right about now, the moon and its uncanny brightness had some kind of quarrel with Remi. A one sided one, of course, given the moon didn't have anything against the drunken courier, let alone any person. It was _the moon. _Regardless, he thought the white and unwavering stare of the pale orb was like the eyes of the burned man, seeping past his tough exterior and prodding at his weak points, exposing his vulnerabilities, without even saying a single word.

"I know in past years I've told you to moderate your vices. Those, at the time, being cigarettes, though that rule should still apply to your drinking habits," Joshua's familiar, deep, mentor-like and wise voice murmured from across the room, pulling Remi's cloudy blue eyes from the moon and onto his dim-lit face. Joshua's expression was unreadable, especially to Remi in the state he was in, though he could tell whatever mood Graham was set in was an unpleasant one. His eyes were a dark slate gray, brows low, and head slumped as he hunched forward. After a moment of recollecting and processing his words, Remi huffed through his nose and furrowed his brows in an expression comparable to pouting. He was, blatantly, too drunk to take into consideration that Joshua was speaking to him in a civil manner which was much more similar to how he used to speak to Remi while he still called him friend.

"Why the fuck do you care so much?" He grumbled, growly in tone. "I ain't dyin', I ain't sick," he briefly paused, "Get off my ass about it," he scoffed, averting his eyes from Joshua as he crossed his arms over his chest in the most childish of ways. Joshua straightened his back and stared at Remi dead on, the look in his eyes more so condescending than the moon above.

"Refuse my sympathies as you please. I only try to help where help is needed," he said, watching as Remi locked eyes with him in a glare. Remi's glassed over blue eyes were searching into Joshua's trying to figure him out and uncover whatever motive he had to his behavior. Given his intoxication, however, he wouldn't figure out a thing. Joshua was surprised that Remi was able to comprehend that Joshua was so abruptly being kind to him at all.

"Thought you didn't even wanna see my face, let alone help me," he grumbled. "Why the.. change of mood?" He inquired, tilting his head to one side. "Ain't I a traitor to you?" He spat, gesturing with the bottle in his hand and sloshing some liquid around, going as far as to spill some onto the floor. Joshua's brow twitched with some ounce of disgust. Remi was a mess. A familiar mess which he had known to be such prior, however, but still a mess regardless.

"You are," Graham said simply, leaning backward and pressing his back to the wall behind him, crossing his arms over his chest. Remi squinted, confused. "However, I cannot leave and nor can I attack in the state I'm in," he continued, "so, though I don't favor my own decision, I'll tolerate you. It's better to make peace than war when the war cannot even be fought," he finished, averting his eyes from the courier's before he was given the time to form a reply. He heard as Remi snorted, frustrated by the notion of having his retaliation denied, and then proceeded to screech his chair along the floorboards as he dragged it to the closest wall. He was far too drunk and far too angry to reply to Joshua.

Remi set himself inches from the splintering wood planks, facing it, and leaned forward. He pressed his forehead to the wall, back slumped, arms limp at his sides, and glass bottle still in one hand. He fell asleep like this. Joshua, on the other hand, watched the sleeping, snoring man through slitted eyes. A constant paranoia hung over his head, one which constantly battled with his subconscious; the notion that Remi was an evil man who would kill him or hand him to Caesar in the blink of the eye. However, also, the older and longer lived notion that Remi was only his own misguided self, and one of Joshua's oldest friends. At the time being, and given Remi's actions, the former was what Graham relied on and based his actions on.

Joshua didn't sleep that night. No matter how much fatigue had gathered on his beaten body over the last couple of sleepless nights, he would stay consistently conscious to be certain of everything in his surroundings. As the previously mentioned paranoia may ensue, he wasn't willing to miss a single bat of the eyelashes from Remi so long as he was present. Joshua didn't want to risk having himself be brought back to Legion be shamed yet another time, and likely the last time. In this state, if he were to be captured, he would not be able to escape again.

After the noon sun had finally crept into the sky, Remi began to awake. Unpleasantly so, at that, as he came to the feeling of uncomfortable heat running along his face and back as sunlight peered in from one of the gaps in Raul's roof. Grumbling, Remi sat up straight and moved a hand to rub one of his tired, dry eyes. He found himself awakening to a pounding in his head and a fogginess hanging over his sight, more so in the right eye, which was surrounded in swollen, purple and fuchsia hued skin. No doubt that bruise would be lasting him the rest of this week.

Running fingers through his hair as he arched backward, Remi stretched his spine and yawned as he began to pull himself out of the thick fog of grogginess cast over him. He then, in the midst of sweeping his messy brunette hair to one side, stood from his chair and slowly, stiffly made his way to Joshua's bed. Why, in particular, however? Joshua was still going to be as indifferent and cruel as he was the day he woke up. Nothing would be changed, and the notion that Remi couldn't touch him, let alone rewrap his wounds, would be just the same. All of such things occurred to Remi in a split second as he stopped mid-step toward where Joshua sit, eyes peering at him with a silent, undetectable curiosity.

Remi's brows furrowed, and he found himself in a sudden place of confusion. For weeks, he had gotten used to waking and tending to Joshua first thing after the sun rose. But today, however; today was different. He hadn't woken up 'till noon due to his heavy drinking the night before, he awoke with more injuries than he could recall receiving, and most prominently, he awoke to a breathing, conscious, vengeful Joshua in the bed opposite to his desk and chair. This was.. Surreal to him. He'd made caring for Joshua his new routine, and it seemed now that routine was all but broken. However he had hoped to one day see the Burned Man awake again, he wasn't sure if he liked this change of routine.

Stopping and slumping his shoulders, Remi spun on his heel to begin walking back to his desk. Or, rather, Raul's desk that he more often than not occupied regardless of ownership. On the way there, meanwhile tiredly dragging his feet, he heard someone clearing their throat behind him. Joshua, no doubt, given Raul seemed not to be home at the time. Likely in Freeside or visiting the Crimson Caravan for supplies. Remi stopped before he reached the desk and glanced over his shoulder, briefly meeting Graham's colorless gaze. The two shared a brief glare before either of them spoke.

"I wasn't sure you would wake up at all today," Joshua commented, gruff and monotone.

"I wasn't sure you'd wake up, either," Remi replied, immediately turning away after such comment concluded. He had no desire to watch as Joshua began to glare and clench his fists in his lap, grinding nails into his palm. That comment sounded cold, crude, however with some certain, undeniable touch of care being bore through a fresh wound.

Remi sat himself back down at his desk, sitting lazily and limply in his chair. He hung his head back over the rest of the chair, staring up at the blue, cloud-spotted sky through the cracking metal ceiling. From the other side of the room, Joshua continued to watch Remi, somewhat irritated by how careless he seemed to always look. No matter how Remi felt, no matter what Remi did, when he put himself down in a damn chair, he could always look carefree. It was practically a talent, and it came to crawl under Joshua's skin now because he couldn't pinpoint whether or not Remi did or didn't care.

After a few minutes of silence passed and Remi still stared at the sky, intentionally avoiding looking at Joshua, who still watched him, Graham broke the silence. "I want to leave today," he said, suddenly, with the knowledge that those simple words would pull Remi out of the clouds and force his eyes to Joshua's own. Remi stared at him with brighter, wider eyes. Curious, reluctant. "Not in the sense you think. I just want to get out. I've been here, in this bed, for weeks while I was asleep and now days while I've been awake. I want to see where we are, which I assume isn't-"

"No." Remi interrupted, expression now changed to something significantly more solid and commanding. He wasn't going to allow Joshua outside; not yet. Not because he worried about Joshua leaving, no, he knew he couldn't manage that in the state he was in. He didn't want Joshua to try and evidently harm himself, and nor did he want to have Joshua yet again overwhelmed, such as his first day waking up, by realizing exactly where he is in the Mojave. Which, frankly, was nowhere. A couple miles outside Freeside, but evidently _nowhere. _An empty patch of lifeless desert, much different than Joshua's beloved Zion.

Joshua clenched his fists tighter. "And why do you feel a need to deny me that?" He questioned. "I realize I'm far from Zion, and I realize we're in _your _homeland, Remi. There's nowhere in this God forsaken place I'd like to be," he said, gesturing to a wide crack in the wood and metal walls and to outside. "I only want to know I'm not your captive," he finished, staring Remi head-on. He watched with a feeling of success watch over him as Remi's expression softened, and it dawned on him what it may look to Joshua like he was doing to him. After all this watchful care and protectiveness, after the weeks of hoping for Joshua to live and someday, somehow forgive him, the last thing he wanted was to watch Joshua think of him as a pawn of the Legion, holding him hostage.

A long, uneasy pause passed between the two of them. Remi averted his eyes to the ground. "Fine," he said, pursing his lips. "But," he began, looking back up to Joshua, "we stay around the shack. You stay by me. We're just calling this you stretching your legs, okay?" He grunted, huffing shortly before he stood from his chair and reached a hand out to Joshua, offering to help him to his feet. Joshua turned his head, refusing, and slipped his way off his bed. Remi noticed as he staggered a bit, having to momentarily grab onto the side of his bed to balance himself, then lifted into a fully erect stance. He drew in a deep breath and glanced to Remi, making the silent notion he was alright to walk and head outside.

Remi stepped wordlessly forward and opened the shack door, walking out and leaving the entrance wide open for Joshua to follow after him. As he left, he'd picked up a small switchblade off Joshua's nightstand and pushed it into his back pocket. He highly doubted he'd need it, though it was still reassuring to know he had it. He liked to think to himself that it was in case the geckos around Raul's place came back, though somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it was a precaution in case Joshua tried to take another swing at him.

Stepping outside again for the first time in weeks gave Joshua some odd sense of surreality. The sudden burst of warmth running across his skin, the piercing white-gold light of the Mojave sun squinting his eyes and forcing him to cast his slate gray-blue orbs down at the densely packed dirt below. He closed his eyes tight, rubbed them a bit, and began to slowly look up once again. The bright, hot sensation of the desert outside was practically new to his sensitive eyes, which had been in either a closed or otherwise dark environment for running on three weeks now. Remi watched in curious silence as Joshua walked further out onto the sand, treading carefully as his bare feet pressed to solid-baked ground. He was surprised, to say the least, to see Joshua walking to well and already coping with the outside world again so well.

After having walked about five or so feet outside the shack, Joshua stopped in the sand. He stood tall and looked straight ahead, staring over the broken apart pre-war overpass and crumbled asphalt roads, watching as the breeze carried pale tan dust across the Mojave. He drew in a long, steady breath, slowly looking over the expanse of what used to be Nevada before the great war ripped the US apart. He jolted ever so unnoticeably slightly and turned his head as Remi stepped up beside him, taking a glance at him before the two of them together turned to look back over the cresting mountains in the distance. As he watched, looking over the lands he once thought to be familiar in his Legion days, his fingers ticked and twitched at his sides. Ached and pleaded for a certain other familiarness to fill them; the grip of his pistols.

"Not quite the view back in Zion, huh?" Remi asked, glancing briefly back at Joshua, who gave no response and only momentarily furrowed his brows. Remi took a thick swallow as he digested only Graham's silence as a reply, and went back to simply staring out over his homeland. The quiet tension between them grew, like the chain leash around a dog as it tried to walk further and further from its stake with no avail, 'till the chain finally snapped after several minutes that felt to be hours.

"Remi?" Joshua began, asking his attention. Remi took note that Joshua was still avoiding eye contact.

"Yeah?"

"I'd like to practice my aim," he said, finally turning his head to look at the courier, who stood with a relatively blank expression. He wasn't quite sure what to think, as he hadn't pieced it together that Joshua was suffering an itch brought up by his nostalgia to hold and fire a gun once again. "I know you've got more than a few guns stashed somewhere that I could.."

"You just expect I'm gonna up and hand you a gun after yesterday?" He questioned, daring to lower his town and curl his lip with some degree of irritation at Joshua. Joshua's expression didn't waver in the least. He wasn't intimidated by Remi, and nor were his motives detoured in the least.

"Do you actually expect I'm going to shoot you? Here, now, and after_ I _asked you for the gun?" He retorted in return, giving Remi that sort of condescending glare that told him he was disappointed in him; told him he expected Remi to know he wasn't that foolish. Remi grunted, unable to shoot some snarky remark back at Joshua, and started to walk his way back to the shack. Joshua crossed his arms and relaxed his standing stance as he fell into a position of waiting. Once in the doorway itself, Remi paused and glanced back at Joshua, as if to check if he were still there. The moment his eyes met Joshua's slaty gray eyes, a spark of embarrassment hit his expression, as Joshua's glare was already telling him that was a vain action. Where would Joshua had gone to, and how? Remi's paranoia was really beginning to take a choke-hold on him, it seemed.

Inside the shack, Remi was quick to pick up his .45 auto pistol off the desk. This was Joshua's favorite small firearm, as he'd come to know after years of seeing Joshua wield that and solely that weapon. He paused to check the chamber for ammunition before slipping the grip comfortably into his hand and walking back outside to Joshua, who stood facing the sun. From this angle, Joshua was somewhat silhouetted by the noon sun pouring down above him, though Remi could make out the fine lines of his perfect, soldier-like stance. Straight legs and back, arms crossed neatly over his chest, chin held high. Even when beaten and broken to the point of shame and near death, some things about Joshua never changed.

Stepping up to his side, Remi gave a little sigh to attract his attention as he held the gun out with one hand, holding it with loose fingers. He looked as if he were in some kind of shame to've given into Joshua's wishes so easily, though it was unrevealed behind his guarded expression whether such was feigned or not. Joshua, upon seeing the fine, though unpolished and dusty gun, he took it into his own hands and began to move his fingers about it like an Omertà would a fine showgirl.

The way his hands moved around the gun were similar to how he used to before the second fall, though not quite the same. His fingers were stiff in the way they moved, likely having some correlation to the damage done to his wrists back in the fort, and some even seemed to struggle curling and bending at all. His hands, as a whole, shook and subtly jittered. This brought an unpleasant expression to Joshua's face, as this was far from what he wanted and expected. He used to hold a gun and his hands would move like silk, smooth and perfectly controlled. That could only be described as the contrary of what his hands behaved like now.

Remi watched in silence as Joshua opened the barrel and checked the bullets, clicking metallic parts as he worked the gun like he used to back in Zion. Not as fluently, and not as flawlessly practiced, but nevertheless. Remi furrowed his brows just a bit as he watched Graham. He had some speculation regarding how Joshua would handle his guns after so much physical damage and after such a devastating blow to his state of mind.

"Sure you're ready to be using that?" He asked, gesturing to the gun with a nod of his chin, blue eyes passing back and forth from the gun to the burned man. Joshua very briefly glanced up at him as another click sounded from the gun and he moved it to rest at his side, fingers uneasily coiled around the leather and snakeskin grip.

"Set up some bottles for me to shoot," he said, ignoring Remi's question for the time being. He swiveled on his heel and pointed with his free hand the several feet of rickety fence just outside Raul's house. "That should make a good enough place to put them," he said before he took a couple steps from Remi and toward the fence, which he ran his fingers along, wiping off dust and studying the rough texture of the wood. It wasn't smooth, nor level, though it would be good enough to keep a bottle standing. He then turned his head to Remi. Paused. "We'll see," he finally replied to Remi's question.

Without another word, Remi stepped away and toward the front of the house, where his bucket of sarsaparilla bottles sit. He'd never thought a bucket full of empty glass bottles would come to be useful for him, but here he is now. Taking bottles for the legendary Burned Man to shoot likely so he can feel like he hasn't lost his flame. And so that he can make sure his hands are still working properly after having taken nails through his wrists.

Remi took about four bottles all together in his hands, grabbing two in each palm as he wrapped his fingers around their necks. He then set them neatly along the fence, placing them roughly half a foot apart each. Joshua watched him do so with fingers impatiently ticking against the bottle in his hand. Oh, how he now itched to fire the gun in his hands now that the trigger was so teasingly close to his fingertip. After Remi finished with the last bottle and made sure they would all stand and continue to do so, he backed up to stand beside Joshua, and made a gesture with his arms to the makeshift shooting range.

"All dressed up and pretty for you," he said, pulling a short grin. Joshua didn't offer any reply; not even a scoff toward Remi's remark. He simply took several uniform, slow steps backward to get a good perspective and shooting distance from the bottles. Remi backed up to stand behind him as Joshua brought his gun up to hold out in front of him, moving both hands to grip the weapon.

He closed one eye, squinted, and shifted his feet in the sand. Positioning himself for a perfect, practiced shot. He drew in a slow breath as to focus, lining up the sights with the first bottle. The muscles in his neck and those in his fingers tightened as he noticed his hands shaking, making his shot unsteady all in all. This was something he'd never dealt with nor had to tolerate before. He ground his boots further into the dry soil, as if subconsciously looking for some kind of security in his shot.

He pulled back the hammer, placed his finger around the trigger. Steadied himself one last time. With a sound that ripped the Mojave's quiet breeze in half, he fired. The crack left his mind buzzing for a moment; he found he was unadjusted to the harsh sound of a gunshot. It left an ache in his head and a haziness to his eyes. He shook it off easily, however, and fixated on the fence. His expectation was to see a bottle no longer present, and to catch the glint of shattered metal in the dirt out of the corner of his eye.

He heard Remi scoff behind him. "Never seen you miss before, Josh," he said, truthful in tone though somewhat muttered. Joshua gripped the gun tighter. As he fixated on the fence before him, it occurred to him that Remi wasn't bluffing. The bottle still stood in its place. Untouched in its entirety.

Joshua pursed his lips and snapped the gun's aim to the second bottle. Fired again. He brows furrowed and a soft growl seemed to well in the back of his throat. Joshua seemed even more so surprised and agitated by his fall in ability with firing a gun. With the crack of a bullet ripping the air, he missed again. He swiveled his feet in the dirt and went to the third. Fired. Missed. The aching in his head had progressed to pounding, unable to cope with the immense noise and power of the firearm, and the unease in his ears had grown to a high-pitched ringing now. He gripped the pistol tighter, fingers aggressively coiling around leather as if he were trying to choke it.

He pointed the aim at the final bottle, breathing deep and slow as to bury the anger and disbelief building in his chest. He adjusted his feet, twitched his fingers around the pistol's grip and its trigger. Paused. Focused on the quiet breeze filling the atmosphere around him, void of the violent sound of a gunshot. He reading himself, intent on his target.

Then lowered his gun. Remi watched him do so in utter disbelief. It was a hollowpointed shock to see Joshua miss, but to see him accept defeat in his most proficient skill.. Remi watched in wretched silence and Joshua stood still, staring down the untouched bottles as he tried to maintain deep breaths. The only sudden break in tension was a thud in the dirt, that of Joshua dropping the gun altogether. He was infuriated, and in utter shock. He was a shame to himself. As Remi began to take a step forward, reaching out a hand for Joshua's shoulder, he took a sharp turn in the dirt underfoot and walked for the shack. He didn't say another word.

A writhing snake of guilt weaved around Remi's heart. Caesar had beaten, bloodied, and broken Joshua not only physically, but in some deeper, emotional sense. Joshua was an open wound, and his failure to make a single successful shot was a wash of saltwater.


	13. Chapter 12

_Sweet Jesus, I'm finally back with an update. Alright, first thing's first with this month's, I'm so sorry for how late it is. I've had a ridiculously busy month, and I hadn't anticipated just how much it'd take out of me. Additionally, this update is a little bit on the short side, unfortunately. Didn't wanna make you guys wait any longer._

**_But!_**

_For the next update, because I have a pretty long break coming up here just around the corner, and I'd love to get more of dear Halfmoon written, I plan on doing a **double update** of two hopefully large, worthwhile chapters to compensate. - And that's all I have for this month. I hope everyone who's been reading is doing well, and enjoy the update! Look forward to that double._

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For the remainder of the evening, thoughts of Joshua's recovery which hadn't before occurred to him floated through Remi's mind. If he couldn't even fire a gun straight anymore, how was he to defend and protect the Dead Horses back in Zion, should greater threats come about? In fact, how was he going to continue to be their war chief at all? It put Remi in a deeper pit of guilt, stuck in the hole he'd dug in his mind with constant reminders that Joshua's physical and emotional wounds were at his fault. By this time, after so much hope had already been drained out of him, he doubted Joshua's recovery all in all.

With a guilty heaviness settling on his eyelids, he fell asleep with hands hands tightly, nervously intertwined in his lap. It seemed emotional exhaustion and weeks of spending his nights without rest rendered Remi powerless to his fatigue. Asleep in his chair, as her the usual, while Joshua sat up in his bed. By morning, he'd recovered his gun from its place in the dirt and had fallen into spending hours awake inspecting it, clicking apart its many metal parts and ghosting his unsteady fingers along its cold frame, wishing he could do so as fluidly as he used to. His eyes hadn't left that small, sturdy weapon since he'd picked it up, watching it and his hands as they worked with a certain stare of contemplation. As if he were trying to evaluate himself, how he behaved now after the second fall, and how he would carry on from this point forward.

That was just the catch; there was a second glint in his eyes, one underlying the deep thoughtfulness. Fear. Confusion. The concoction of feelings that he refused to acknowledge that told him he didn't know where to go from here, and that he was blatantly stuck. He was in a state which, for a man of his earned stature and range of skills, rendered him useless. He was void of hope that he was no longer in search of.

Does such a hope still have a significance once it's no longer sought after, and is loss of such a hope still a loss at all if it's no longer thought to be needed? Joshua's mind should have been contemplating the answers, though he found himself thinking of no such things, being far too wrapped up in his desperation to again be the man he used to be. The war chief the Dead Horses came to look up to in awe, the warrior of his own God, the seeker of truth and wholeheartedness in one's life. The best friend of the courier asleep in the chair by his bed. Although his goal to once again recover what he used to be was a respectable, understandable goal, it was a given he'd easily get too enveloped in his quest, and only find himself drifting farther and farther from who he aimed to be as need and starvation of being satisfied with himself ate away at the flesh on his bones like a Nightstalker pack.

Hours passed, night grew to day, and the sun rose to its 9AM position in the sky, filtering its warm honey light into the shack and across Remi's face. Every morning this seemed to happen; light landing on the courier's face, heating his skin, and evidently disrupting his sleep. One would think in time he would learn to move his chair in a position in which the morning sun couldn't reach him; though then again, as most who knew him were aware, the courier was a slow, stubborn learner. Joshua, for one, knew this all too well.

Grumbling and arching his back away from the wooden frame of the chair in a stretch, Remi's eyes began to open to the world whose eyes would never close. His jaws drew apart in a yawn, and he slumped forward in his chair, foggy blue eyes searching the small home. Dark half-moons rest beneath his eyes like twinning eclipses, outlining his tired demeanor. Searching the single room, he spotted and quickly disregarded the slowly moving frame of Raul asleep at his desk, body rising and falling with steady breaths. Other than the ghoul who presumably fell asleep while working, the house was still. Silent. No metallic clicking of guns off toward the beds, no growly greeting from the man who avoided death twice welcoming him back to the Mojave.

Remi's cornflower eyes opened wider and he started to search around the room, mind only now beginning to register that Joshua was gone. He briefly searched for him, finding he may simply be quietly sleeping, though came up inconclusive as he was abruptly stopped in his efforts from a noise outside that shattered his thin glass pane of fatigue. A gunshot, followed by the _clink_ of metal shells hitting dirt; nerve-gripping and ear-shattering as ever. Though the sound itself was a shock to his senses and most definitely jolted him and his senses awake, he quickly relaxed and simply sighed through his lips. He had a good assumption as to what was going on just outside the shack door, which he now came to notice was just barely cracked open.

Standing from his chair, which creaked and cried as his weight lifted off its weak frame, Remi started toward the front door of the shack with heavy, lazy steps. He walked with little to no concern, a tiredness still lingering in his stature, as if he expected whatever he'd find on the other side of that door mundane at best.

The sound of metal hinges creaking as the wooden door opened alerted the burned man outside, standing some five feet from the shack. He spun on his heel, whipping around with his pistol in hand to meet Remi, who now stared down the .45's barrel like it were the eyes of an agitated spouse. And with no fear, at that. The courier paused, blinked at Joshua, and tilted his head to peek behind him at the bottles lined up on the fence. Only three were present now, and pieces of shattered bronze-tinted glass litter the sand underfoot. He'd managed a single shot. Not without harsh trial and error, he noticed, as shells upon shells lie at Joshua's feet. He'd emptied more than a few full clips trying to hit those God damned bottles.

Remi huffed at Joshua and glanced between his eyes and the gun, which was quickly lowered from him as Joshua took a deep, reassessing breath. Remi then crossed his arms over his broad chest and grinned. "You sneakin' out to practice without me now, Josh?" He prodded, taking a saunter-like few more steps closer to the former legate, who stood for the time being bare of his bandages- save for the ones Remi had strewn over his wounds- with only his jeans and white shirt to cover him. Untucked, and sloppily buttoned. He looked raggedy, old; right down to his ticking fingertips accented by dirt caked beneath his nails. "Now, didn't I tell you not to do things like that?" He asked, like a parent discipling a child, which he saw immediately furrowed Joshua's brows. He knew the war chief couldn't stand being treated like lesser from a person of equal or lower stature.

"Not directly," he argued, voice deep and raspy. He now held his gun in one hand at his side, finger lingering off the trigger like a proper marksman was meant to. "You explicitly told me I wasn't to try escaping, and implied avoiding hostility, though you hadn't specified I wasn't allowed the luxury of _at least_ five damned feet outside," he said, staring slate gray daggers at the courier. Joshua's finger now ticked in its place, itching to hold that trigger; aching to pull, and starving to hear the crack of a gunshot. Lustful of the sense of power and control. Though, he held off. For sake of his state of mind and the courier's state of body. After all, with his aim and frustration, who knew where or what he'd shoot.

Remi shifted uncomfortably in the dirt underfoot, jaw subtly rotating and eyebrows furrowing with frustration. He quietly cleared his throat as he internally tried to conjure up some remark to come back at Graham with, some reason for him not to've been able to walk outside at all, much less practice shooting. He evidently came up short. He could never argue with Joshua; not with success, at least. He'd never been able to; not since the first day they met. Joshua just had this experience and tone about him that cornered Remi's already limited ability to hold a strong argument. Granted, even if he could find it in him to fight back, he'd always lose.

With a huff, Remi spoke up again, "fine. Fair enough," he grumbled, "_But, _from now on, just tell me whenever you wanna go shoot shit, okay?" He snapped, placing himself in a blatant place of superiority over Joshua, which was easy to see simply by the tone in which he spoke. Joshua was, not surprisingly, left with his skin crawling at being commanded around by someone who he spent half his damned life training to put beneath him. His fingers tightened around his gun, the empty hand balling into a fist. "Okay?" Remi repeated. Joshua could feel his blood gaining heat under his skin.

"And what if I don't, Remi?" He challenged, quickly losing his temperament. He wasn't going to stand for this treatment, even if, in retrospect, it was only logical given the questionability of Joshua's state of mind and body. "What are you going to do? Shoot me? _Kill me?_" He pressed, taking a step closer to the courier and facing him eye-to-eye, digging right into those ice blue eyes with the lifeless steely gray set of his own.

Remi took in a nervous swallow, locking onto Joshua's glare with a distanced stare. "No! No, I'd.." He cleared his throat, struggling to find his words once again. Even more, trying to find a suitable punishment for Joshua. "I'd take your guns. Your ammo. Even your knives if you still got 'em hidden somewhere," he threatened, managing to muster some force to hold to Graham's throat, suffocating him into submission. Unlikely, though; Joshua knew how to hold his breath.

The burned man's brows lowered, and he tightened his grip further around his gun, as if protecting it. "Take a knife from a killer's hands, is he no longer a killer?" Joshua posed, holding a deep and gruff tone which still held a forced amount of civility and calmness. Remi could tell Joshua was getting fed up, though he would endure and continue to be stubborn as a stone and keep fighting the force that beat the Bull.

"That saying' you're a killer?" Remi quirked a brow. He evaded the symbolism in Joshua's statement with intention, knowing a rude assumption that disregarded his metaphor would make his skin crawl. Joshua's nails practically dug into his palms he clenched his hands so tight.

"_Remi." _Just the way he said the courier's name spoke more than just a single word to Remi. He was telling him to shut his mouth and wrap his thick-skull guarded brain around what Joshua was saying, and to keep his wits out of his words, too. Joshua knew damn well Remi understood what he'd meant, and was simply twisting his words for the purpose of agitating him. For the purpose of winning an argument he would otherwise lose. "You know damn well what that's saying. My guns," he paused and brought his pistol in front of his face, cocking it back and letting a shell hit the dirt, "stay with me."

"Fine." Once there was a final decision from Joshua, there was no changing his course of action. "With my permission, you can keep 'em," he said, putting himself in some fool's gold position of authority. Joshua scoffed under his breath and crossed his arms, the muzzle of his pistol tucked under his bicep. Remi then promptly turned on his heel and started back toward the shack door, motioning with his hand for Joshua to follow. "Now c'mon, I gotta head into Freeside for some supplies, and you sure as hell ain't staying here alone. We gotta get some stuff 'fore we set out, though." He said.

Joshua didn't move a damned inch. "You expect me to travel with you?" He asked. He sounded offended by notion, and not surprisingly. Remi was little more than a pawn of Caesar's with too much misguidance for him to place trust in. "Raul is home, regardless. I'll stay with-"

"Oh hell no you aren't," Remi interrupted, having stopped with his hand on the half-opened door and turned his head to face Joshua at a profile angle. "I don't trust you as much as you do me," he said. False information, in truth. Remi still had an instinctive trust for Joshua, one which was too deep for him to've lost. Such a thing was questionable in Joshua. "And there's no way I'm leaving you alone with him. He ain't worth much for watching you, anyway. Probably won't wake up 'till noon. Probably couldn't stop you even if he were awake and you tried to leave," he said.

Joshua shifted in the dirt. He resisted to just reach out and smack Remi across the face with the back of his gun, like he might've done back in Zion so many weeks before. Back when their lives were in order and the pieces of their personal puzzle weren't either out of place or missing. Granted, their puzzles never were quite put together just right, but they'd never had the concern of pieces being gone for good before now. Graham settled with huffing and digging the heel of his right boot into the dry packed ground underfoot. "Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "But don't you dare, for even a minute, treat me like a child at your heels, or a dog at your side. We're _equal_, despite circumstance. You'll walk with me as if I'm your comrade while we're in that shithole. Anything otherwise and we'll get noticed and picked out from the common rabble as _weak,_" he growled.

Remi only narrowed his eyes at Joshua, taking in his words however not displaying or verbalizing whether or not he had actually taken them into account. He knew Freeside better, and he knew how the folks in that shabby little junkyard town worked. He questioned Joshua's logic, perhaps for the first time in months; maybe years. Now, Joshua was undoubtably his equal, but treating him as such in his current state of aggression and distrust may be another story, even if for his risen point. Remi then only turned to face the direction in which Freeside and New Vegas lie, and began to walk. He didn't say a word. He flagged Joshua along with a gesture of his fingers, then outstretched an arm and opened his hand. "Hand me your gun," he said.

"_What?"_ Joshua asked with some degree of disbelief and anger, given Remi had said he could keep his gun little more than a minute ago.

"You heard me," the courier repeated. Strict and authority-like. He didn't even bother to look back at Graham, only kept his hand held out, "I promise I'm only gonna keep it while we're in town. One of those squatters sees it on you, they'll come runnin'. Don't need you with anymore broken bones," he explained, trying to express his concern.

Joshua hadn't yet budged from his spot in the sun-baked soil. "I'll put a bullet through anyone who tried to take this gun," he said, lowering his tone to something reminiscent of the commanding and gruff voice he used to use when directing orders to his Dead Horses back in Zion. "And you know I will."

"Not my point, Joshua," Remi huffed back at him. "You're safer giving it to me; people down there know not to fuck with me," he said, glancing back for only a moment then, "Trust me."

Those final two words would do nothing but put a heavy stone on the burned man's broken chest. He walked to Remi's side and practically smacked the gun into his open palm, offering not even a slight flinch as he heard the snap of metal hitting skin from the force from which the gun was handed over. Remi audibly winced and traded hands with holding the pistol, afraid the one it started in was now bruised. He was probably right. Remi holstered the pistol and started on his way toward Freeside with Joshua reluctantly at his side.

Remi stole a glance over at the burned man, who avoided eye contact with such a strenuous effort he might just strain his slate orbs and make himself go blind for a day. "Don't worry," he said, trying to speak lightly to Joshua now, "we'll be back 'fore the sun's down," he promised.


	14. Chapter 13

_Hey, all! Hope everyone's having a happy holiday thus far. I'm pleased and proud to say today I'm 1) posting on time again and 2) here with a double update._

_**Two full chapters. One update.** Happy reading, and thank you to everyone who's been with the story thus far, no matter what point you joined in or if you might've even just started. I appreciate all of you. Next update will be next month, of course, and thus coming with the new year. I'm really happy Halfmoon's made it this far, and I couldn't have done it without you guys; the readers._

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The walk to Freeside from Raul's shack wasn't necessarily a long one, nor a tedious one in contrast to some other commonly taken walks in the wasteland, and was about an hour or so on foot depending on how well you used your time. Which, with Joshua in his company, Remi had no choice but to use his time wisely. Very wisely, at that; having to keep on track and take not even the shortest breaks or detours. Joshua was a very punctual person, and even though going to the scrapyard town outside New Vegas was a trip he hadn't chosen to take, nor desired to take, he would go through it with the same work ethic he did with any other task. Additionally, he wanted to have this over and done with as soon as possible.

Walking by his side, the Courier stepped along the dry soil with a certain urgency, trying his best to keep up with Joshua's stringent pace. Joshua still strode along the Mojave dirt like he was the commander of countless soldiers; a mighty war chief; a leader set in how own ways; a Legate. That aspect of his personality, that sense of leadership and desire for command, was simply imbedded into Graham's nature such as his understanding of how to breathe. No matter how far from the Legion, how broken he may become, some parts of him would never change. Remi, although thinking himself to be in a position of control here, still accommodated to this and chose not to object to Joshua's subconscious demand for the two of them to walk at the same fast, steady pace. No matter how much he wanted to assert dominance and ask Joshua slow down, he knew that may make their little errand run an unsavory experience. Pushing an already angered, tense Joshua over the edge was a bad idea.

About noon, the western gate of Freeside came into view, its bright and blinking lights attracting the eyes of the Courier and the burned man. Hardly ten minutes before they'd be up to their knees in greasy-haired Kings members and Squatters. A collection of people Remi was all too familiar with, being a technical Kings member himself and having spent a whole lot of time in Freeside in his past years. Maybe too much time, considering relationships formed and evidently left dormant for so many months after his periodic visits, weeks spent with the broken people of the town, stopped. But, that's life. Remi moved like the sands over the desert, his desire for discovery and search for greatness too strong to let him tie himself down to just one town, no matter what connections to the people he had.

With the_ wonderful _people of Freeside in mind, Remi had some hidden second intention involving them for having taken Joshua with him on this trip, other than legitimately needing to restock his supplies and booze. He wanted to, in the most blatant and honest of ways to put it, get into trouble. He wanted to have a nail-decorated bat or hand-me-down rusted pistol seeking a hole in his forehead. And why? To prove his trust to Joshua, and potentially play the part of the loyal friend and save him from whatever trouble they might get into. He ached to prove to the burned man that he was still the same Courier, regardless of his mistakes and regardless of what naively formed involvement he had with the Legion. Although, somewhere buried deep in his chest, he knew this one simple act, were it to even happen, wouldn't repair the damage done. It may simply begin the healing process; pouring alcohol over the wound, yielding a painful revelation that infection could be ridded of.

As the glittering and ever flickering lights of the scrapheap town ahead grew brighter and closer, they came up on the western entrance, and the three Kings members which stood in front of it. A small group of that gang almost always stood in front of the gates, smoking cigarettes and picking their teeth with switchblades to pass the time between shaking down every newbie in and out of Freeside. As Joshua and Remi drew closer, the Courier brought his hands up and fixed the collar of his jacket, popping it up nice and high, then sweeping his fingers through his hair. Making himself look the part of The Kings.

Joshua watched him with a growing perplexity to his expression, taken aback by the gesture of Remi making himself look a specific way for a specific group of people, simple as that was. Generally speaking, and as far as Graham knew, Remi didn't do anything for anyone other than himself. In fact, he hated changing his image in order to conform, amongst many other things. Remi was a man who dwelled within his own world; did what he pleased and looked how he pleased and only responded to those who didn't mind what he came to be. And those who did mind? He'd either leave them alone or push his knuckles into the space between their eyes, depending on if they confronted him or kept to their own business.

It dawned on Joshua then of what history Remi probably had with this crime infested, filthy town. Remi had stayed around this place for years in his past days in the Mojave, practically lived in the place for a while. He'd known of Remi's involvement with the Kings and their conflict with the NCR, however he was reminded in this very moment that he had no idea the depth of Remi's attachment to Freeside. What ties he'd made, what bridges he'd built and what he'd burned. Joshua was blatantly reminded of the roots Remi had in this town. It put Joshua in a strange place to realize what he didn't know about the Courier, what the Courier had never decided to divulge.

Approaching the three kings members, two were leaning against metal beams, watching the two men with sunglass-shielded eyes, while the third stood with arms crossed, grinning, and with a cigarette stuck between his lips. Soft plumes of silver rose into the still Mojave air. The standing Kings member, clad in leather jacket and blue jeans, stood out amongst his two friends, drawing the eyes of the Courier and Joshua immediately. And for one reason alone, aside that sunlight-spitting smile of his. Blonde hair. Pale and platinum. Darker and richer than, say, Arcade Gannon's, but still undeniably blonde regardless. He had his hair done into a flawless, pomade-shining tunnel snake, a trade-mark of the kings, and his jaw was dusted in a perfect, small amount of scruff.

His oceanic blue eyes glittered like the pre-war skies would've after rainclouds rolled away, giving this smirk to the Courier that just bled some string of words both men knew; something from their past, presumably. As Joshua and Remi came just up to the group, they halted and Remi cleared his throat as the blonde lifted his chin, expectant of the Courier to open his mouth first.

"Jack," he greeted briefly. The blonde took one last drag from his cigarette before flicking it onto the dry packed soil and crushing its amber embers beneath his boot.

"Mornin' Remi. You just comin' around for a supply trip again?" Joshua immediately felt a strange distaste and distrust crawl up the length of his spine as the sound of that sweet voice met his ears. Something about this man; his smile, his posture, his honey-sweet and smooth voice; it unsettled him. No matter how saturated with charisma _Jack_ was, there was something about him that put Joshua off. Something he couldn't quite determine yet triggered his instinct to be cautious about this character.

"That'd be it," the Courier responded shortly, stepping a foot or two ahead of Joshua and toward Jack. He kept his chin held high. Joshua could, even with his limited knowledge of Jack, sense the direct tension between these two. Remi, then, developed his own short grin. It didn't match the blonde greaser's, no, but it reflected wits as it usually would. Remi scoffed, "You keepin' your eyes on your feet too much these days, Jackie? It ain't morning," he commented, glancing up at the high noon sun above them. He watched Jack furrow his brows, lower jaw rotating. He didn't like Remi's wits, got irritated by his charm being knocked from his hand, though he tried not to show it. Jack tipped up his head and flicked a lock of hair right back into place, maintaining his stature; holding up his guard.

"Hm. Well, it's just too early to be saying good evening, you see, but I guess it's not early enough to say good morning, either. There just ain't a good in-between, is there?" he responded, tone smooth to an extent of uncanniness. Joshua, watching from behind the Courier, knew that short-tempered 'Six would've immediately gotten defensive and snippy. That aspect of the greaser only added to Graham's unease; that obvious act of control and ease of emotions. There was something beneath that striking charisma and sunshine blonde hair.

Remi gave a short nod. No direct objection, as if arguing, for once in his life aside from with Joshua, wasn't worth it. He watched as Jack uncrossed his arms and took a smooth side-step out of the path of the gate to Freeside. "Well, I won't be one to hold you and Joshua here.. Good to see you back in town, Rem," he said, settling in with the other two black-haired greasers behind him. Joshua, stepping back up to Remi's side, was already glaring daggers at the Courier. Asking, in the most forceful way possible without opening his mouth, how the hell that blonde Kings member knew his name. Did Remi talk about Joshua while he was out? Did he spill stories, spin threads, spit lies, or simply speak or a wounded, broken man who he was in process of gluing back together?

Remi swallowed back what nervousness welled in his throat as he stepped through the metallic, creaking gates with Joshua by his side, matching his pace. Though neither of them payed mind to it, Jack watched the two men pass him by and walk into the town while he slipped another cigarette from a carton hidden in a coat pocket, that same grin strung over his cheeks. With metal gates clambering shut behind them, Remi and Joshua walked tense and quiet down the road till the slate, ice-cold eyes of the burned man pierced through the Courier's thick skin. He sighed and huffed.

"Okay, okay, fine," he grunted, glancing over at Joshua, whose eyes snapped back to the road ahead of him, though Remi knew that was only because he expected Remi to start saying just what he wanted to hear. "That's Jackelope. Everybody 'round here just calls him Jack, though." He said. "Not a bad kid, I talk to him every now and again. Likes to pick on people outside that gate and all.."

"And I assume I'm one of the things you talk about, Remi?" Joshua asked as he continued to walk. Remi tried his best to walk just as fast as Joshua if not a bit faster, given he still had to lead the direction of their path. Which, they were beginning underway to the old Mormon Fort, where Remi went for medical supplies. Only place in Freeside where you can trust someone didn't piss in your chems. Well, most of the time; granted you got the supplies from Gannon or Farkas.

The Courier ran a hand across the back of his neck, expression leaking some amount of guilt. "Well, I mean, it's hard for you not to come up in conversation once or twice, considering it was a given Jack was gonna ask why I was comin' to Freeside every week for nothin' but booze and gauze," he explained, "I don't say much, though." He glanced over at Joshua, waiting for some reply, only to get silence. Joshua's eyes watched the cracked pre-war streets ahead of them, eyes sharp and pungent. He was deep in thought, it worried Remi to put though to about what in particular.

After a few long moments, Joshua spoke up, "tell me about Jackelope," he requested, still not faltering the look on his face. Remi didn't hesitate to do as he was asked, knowing going against Graham's word would make this trip a whole hell of a lot more unpleasant.

Remi drew in a quiet sigh before he started speaking. "He's a newer Kings member, I met him when he first came in. Only 24, used to want to be an NCR Ranger before he ended up in Freeside. He's always been an ambitious little bastard, really," he began, "Dear old mom and dad were Republic-loving farmers, so of course he ended up makin' it to be a foot soldier somewhere down the road. Wanted to make daddy proud almost as much as he wanted to feel the power of crushin' Legion skulls under his boot. — His dreams with the Bear only lasted so long, though; got himself placed up in Khans territory his _first tour. _Can't say I blame him for getting involved with them, I'll be honest. 18 year old kid that'd never seen the best or worst of the wasteland yet, it wasn't a surprise he got himself into Jet." Remi paused fto glance over at Joshua, who still expected this story to continue. "Next thing that happened to 'im was getting his outfit moved out to Freeside to help out with the tensions between the Kings and the NCR. Worst luck he could've gotten. Kid ended up on a dishonorable discharge after they found him stealing chems from supply units. That's about the time I found him; a drug-hooked squatter that only stopped shakin' when he couldn't see what was in front of him. I helped him get hooked up and sittin' pretty with the Kings. They cleaned him up and made him look the part, and he already had the personality to keep himself on good terms with the gang. There's… Not much after that, I just know the kid's gone a long way." The Courier concluded.

Joshua listened intently, taking a short glance over at Remi once his story concluded. His brows furrowed and the slate, ice-cold color his eyes grew more pungent and more like cold, overbearing steel. There was something about the Courier's story, his tone.. He was being dodgy; avoiding something. There were holes in his tale, short lapses where he chose to conceal. Not lie, no, just avoid a full truth. Joshua knew it immediately, though he chose not to say anything for the time being. Confronting Remi was an easy enough task, but actually getting a straight answer that the Courier didn't want to give was another. Remi was a stubborn beast by nature, and he could stay that way even for Joshua if he really wanted to. Plus, Joshua was in no temperament to be demanding answers from Remi.

"He's… Interesting, I'll give him that," Joshua commented simply. He would avoid to say anything in regards to his presumed knowledge that Remi had far more history with Jack than what he'd told of. "Be careful what you tell him."

Remi felt his brows furrow and his lip twitch a little with irritation at that last notion. He never liked being told what to do, but for the time being, he would disregard it. Yet again, arguing with Joshua was a bad idea in the current state of their relationship. Remi, at the end things, didn't reply at all. Rather, he picked up his pace in the direction Mormon Fort, blue eyes casting up to its opaque brick mass as it came up around the corner.

Just outside the pre-war structure now renovated to house the Followers of The Apocalypse, a couple squatters sit leaning against the wall with their leathery, sun-tanned skin lit by the ball of fire overhanging them in the sky. They either had a bottle of booze in their hands or at their side, setting corked &amp; upright in the dirt. This was a common sight in Freeside; those unfortunate enough to've succumbed to the forces of vice and addiction and didn't have the power to outwill it, falling into the growing crowds of poverty and hardship. That was just how it was out here. The ugly scraps of what The Strip pushed out of their gates.

Remi seemed to pay no mind to them as he walked into the fort, speeding his pace even more so as if he were pressing the idea of passing them by without a blink of his eyes or word from his lips. Joshua walked as he did so, analyzing the Courier's behavior with a cynically stronger than what it used to be back in Zion. Now, of course, he felt as if he didn't quite know the Courier and had to reestablish what traits he knew of the man. With the actions he just preformed in mind, a lack of natural instinct to help. A lack of attachment to those who he didn't know. Not necessarily carelessness, though most certainly not selflessness.

Once inside the wooden gates of the Fort, white coats shifting from tent to tend filled Remi and Joshua's field of vision. The occasional darker, more poorly dressed commoner or guard passed them by, though they were no where near as frequent as the FoTA members. Remi halted about five feet into the fort, squinting past the bright noon light and searching around the fort, only being stopped for a couple moments as who or whatever he was looking for came into view. Joshua followed, and took note that the distanced Kings member was approaching a blonde- much paler than Jack- with glasses and a book in his hands. Arcade Gannon. The guy was a long-time friend of Remi's. Former traveling companion, too, and, knowing the Courier, an intimate companion somewhere down the road. It occurred to Joshua yet again of what roots Remi held here in Freeside that he wasn't fully conscious of.

Once he was only a couple feet from the Enclave descendant, he got a wide smirk over his lips and shouted, "ohhhh _doctor!_ I think I need some help over here," and watched as Gannon sighed, closed his book, and looked up to Remi with green eyes flickering with irritation. A presumably common, familiar irritation, at that. He then stood from where he sat and adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"I'll grab your supplies, Remi. Give me a minute," he said flatly before walking into a tent behind him. He shuffled about in there for hardly a minute before he reappeared carrying a small box with several rolls of gauze, some medical tape, and a cup of clean pins. He walked right up to Remi and shoved it into his chest, getting a huff of loss of breath from the Courier, who grabbed the small wooden frame before Gannon simply dropped it. "Good to see _he's_ up and walking around finally. But— I'm not a doctor. I'm more of a-"

"Scientist or historian or whatever. Yeah, I know. You work with medicine and used to hold my bones together when I broke 'em, so you're a doctor, Gannon," Remi grinned nice and wide for him, only to have the blonde cross his arms over his chest and sigh. Remi was one of his closest friends, sure, but that didn't mean he didn't crawl under his skin like Cazador venom. Thing was, Arcade would rather go with "or whatever" when it came to Remi's consideration of the two prior terms he'd used. Remi shifted the crate in his hands, making the contents rattle a little as he got ready to leave. "Thanks, Arcade. See'ya when I see'ya. Try not to miss me." And with that, Remi gave a short wink to the Followers member before spinning on his heel and beginning to leave the Old Mormon fort. Quick and easy as that, not one word said to anyone else.

As he started to walk out, Remi bumped his shoulder lightly into Joshua's as to get him to follow after him. Which, he did, only after holding a momentary stare with Gannon, studying him for that fraction of eye contact. Gannon didn't react much to the moment of looking into those raincloud gray eyes other than feeling the immediate impulse to look away.

Once outside the fort and back on the shattered streets of Freeside, Joshua suddenly took a broad step before Remi and spun himself around, placing himself right in Remi's path, facing him head-on. Remi was forced to halt and nearly slammed his box of supplies into Joshua's chest. His eyes were as wide as his jaw, perplexed by the former Legate. "You want me to drop this and have to bother Gannon for another box of stuff? Cause, y'know he ain't gonna be-"

"Quiet." Joshua demanded, crossing his arms tight over his chest and raising his shoulders, assuming that commanding and condescending stature Remi had come to know so well. "That one knew who I was, too, yes?" He didn't even wait for a reply. He knew the answer to his own question; he'd only asked it out of habitual decency. "How popular of a topic of conversation am I, Remi?"

"Like I said, it's hard for you not to come up. I mean, you're the only reason I come around this shithole nowadays—"

"And just how much do they know about me, then, if I'm what you talk about considering I'm what you're here for?" Remi watched as Joshua's eyes grew darker and more calculating. Remi drew back a deep swallow. The behavior Joshua showed was familiar, however he was uncertain of the outcome considering how strong the burned man's distrust for Remi was at the time.

"They know you're a veteran of kind, and that you've got nasty burns all over you, so I gotta take extra close care of you so you don't.. Y'know.." He paused, losing his place before he continued, "that's the extent of it. Really. All else I've mentioned was about how I used vodka to clean your wounds and little shit like that." Joshua remained still, quiet, staring into Remi's deep sapphire orbs. He furrowed his brows, noted the concern and blatant worry in the eyes of the man before him. He may be misplacing some small truths, but he surely wasn't lying. Joshua, then, in a military-like swift fashion, turned back to be beside Remi.

"…Vodka isn't a proper stand in for medical alcohol," he muttered, gruff and low. He ignored as Remi's cheeks perked in a short grin, and he started to walk yet again. It put some sort of hope back into Remi's Mojave dry chest to see Joshua still had some buried amount of trust, some amount of instinct that could still see when Remi's genuine and good-intentioned emotions were showing through his thick, bullet-battered exterior. It gave him back the hope that he had a chance of rebuilding what he had lost between himself and Graham.

Walking down the age-old asphalt, Remi took an unanticipated turn and headed for the gate which led down the road on which The King's School of Impersonation, The Atomic Wrangler, and the Silver Rush sat. Why would Remi want to head down there? That was gang-infested territory, firstly, and plus there was Mick n' Ralph's sitting just around the corner behind the Mormon Fort where they could've gotten alcohol. Nice and cheap. Maybe Remi had some other hookup with The Kings that gave him his booze for free.

After shoving through the metal gate with his little crate in hand, Remi was gladly met with fully lit streets littered with men in leather jackets which read "Kings" on their backs. He gave a little grin upon entering that familiar street. He used to come around here more often than anywhere else. People around here knew his name, respected him and greeted him when he walked by. Not too much so anymore after he'd spent so much time away from the rundown town. Joshua still followed Remi along as he walked, going right by the King's School and turning a corner, passing a girl holding up a sign for booze and cheap women. He came to a stop not soon after, having his face illuminated by the glowing lights which read _"The Atomic Wrangler."_

Remi began to walk inside, only to be stopped by a sharp tug to the back of his leather collar. "_Remi." _Joshua's voice commanded he stop. The Courier signed and slumped his shoulders, as if he knew he would be stopped like this. "Here, of all places?" He questioned. "What exactly is it we're here for?"

Remi grumbled under his breath. "Look, I know some people who work here. Used to do favors for 'em, so they give me my stuff for free. Plus… They got good booze here, anyway," he explained. With a jolt, Joshua administered a little shove as he let off the collar. With unease and tenseness in his muscles, Joshua followed after the Courier as they entered the bar and, quite frankly, human trafficking stop.

Inside the doors, Joshua took in the atmosphere of the.. unappealing, dark place. The lights were dim and the room was otherwise fogged with cigarette smoke. The smell of alcohol, cigarettes, and sweat permitted the air, wrinkling his nose within a moment's notice. Remi, on the other hand, seemed just fine. Content, in fact. He was used to these sights and smells; and worse. He had lived amongst them for years and dwelled in the musky, heavy scents of sex and booze like they were a fine pre-war cologne. It was simply another piece of Remi's nature; favoring the distasteful and the lewd.

Remi stepped up to the front counter of the unsavory casino and set his box down on the scratched wooden surface with a loud _bang, _effectively catching the attention of the man behind the counter, James Garret. The green-eyed host jumped upon reaction and turned to face Remi, who had already assumed the position of leaning against the counter with his elbow to the wood and hand holding his chin up. He wore an obnoxious, mocking, cheeky grin. The male Garret twin scoffed and twitched a fake grin.

"How great it is to see you, Remi. I don't suppose you're here for your weekly?" He asked, sarcasm tainting his tongue. Joshua took close watch of the tone the twin used, which was low and particular unsettled. He most definitely didn't take too much a liking to the Courier, nor what he came around the casino for. Remi simply gave a smug nod, treating James like he shouldn't even be asking that question; like an incompetent fool. The suit-clad club owner huffed and gritted his teeth, taking his swift exit to a back room where he was presumably gathering what Remi was here for.

Remi smoothly drew himself off the counter and glanced back at Joshua. "He'll be a couple minutes. I got him arguing with his sister for my booze every time I come around. It's too bad he can't do shit cause I got a leash on him," he snickered. "I did a couple.. big.. favors for him in the past, and I'll just day he's more or less indebted to me nowadays," he explained briefly as he walked right by Joshua and deeper into the casino, where women and men alike sit in sultry outfits with a look in their eyes with hungered for nothing more than money. Off in the corner of the room, Joshua caught a glimpse of what looked to be a RobCo Protectron following after a human man. Just another source of sin in Freeside, he supposed.

Meanwhile walking through the smoke-scented room, Remi felt a chill roll up his neck at the most sudden of intervals, grabbing him by his throat and abruptly stealing his arrogant grin. Something unsettled him quick as a blink of the eye, and it only took him a moment more to seek it out. Beautiful and glittering oceanic eyes staring at him from the other side of the casino, owned by a figure leaning up against a wall with low, challenging brows and a smug grin only imperfected by a cigarette between rosy lips. Blonde hair done in a coiling snake atop his head, shining with wax and pomade, complimented the black of his leather jacket hung around his shoulders.

This time around, Jack was on his lonesome. Up against a wall in the very back of the room, in the darkest lighting he could find which still complimented his striking looks. Remi could see the very embers in his cigarette breathe with faltering life with every breath from the King's lungs. Remi spotted something else among the greaser with glittered in what little light reached him; a knife. A switchblade which he habitually flicked in and out of its holt, occasionally flipping for show with his eyes locked onto the Courier's blues.


	15. Chapter 14

_Second-parter to the double update. Chapter 15 due for January 1st._

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Remi cleared his throat and brought up his hands to fix the collar of his jacket, matching Jack's stare with one of significantly less hospitality, even if the opposition's own was fake. Giving a short, uneasy and tense glance back at Joshua as to ask him to stay behind at the bar, he started his way over to Jack, whose expression only seemed to light up as the Courier approached him. When Remi got himself right up to him, Jack caught his knife perfectly in his hand after having spun it in the air, flicking it closed and standing up nice and straight, off the wall he was leaning on.

Jack put his blade into a coat pocket and took his cigarette from his lips and into his fingers, blowing a cloud of smoke into Remi's face. He watched in triumph and amusement as the Courier stifled a few coughs, huffing a couple of times to keep himself from doing so anymore. He gritted his teeth and growled under his breath, waving a hand through the air to cast away the leftover smoke.

"Somethin' wrong, big guy? Thought you smoked just as much as I did," Jack chuckled, easily rolling his lit cigarette between his fingers, over his knuckles. Remi rolled his eyes at the blonde.

"Yeah, sure I do- and this might just be me- but I like to breathe smoke when it's comin' from _my_ cigarette," he retorted, watching the sheer pleasure in Jack's expression only grow. He seemed to like to pester Remi, to tug at every string and push every button. He seemed to savor and enjoy what reactions he got out of what he did to the Courier. He was a curious, unexplainable character by this aspect; a man who toyed with others in such a harmless, child-like manner despite a past riddled with the makings of a hardened, broken man who would, as human nature would tell, be silent and wise. His past foretold the creation of anything but a boy, and yet his behavior resembled anything but a man.

"Complain, complain.. That's how you always are," he said, feigning a sigh. He focused his eyes into Remi's and lifted his chin, upholding his own perceived place of power. "Anyhow, Rem… I'm sure you know I'm not a fan of the Garrets, but.." He paused, taking a moment to glance behind the Courier and at Joshua, who he made brief eye contact with. The burned man was keeping a close, paranoid watch on them. "I had an inkling you'd be coming around here. You always do, for your cheap-ass booze and all," he chuckled, "but.. See, lately, I've been thinking. About you, about that _mummy. _About where you found him, and why you've decided to leave us Freesiders in your dust," he said. Remi watched with growing concern as Jack's tone lowered and lowered, eyes developing a striking sapphire blaze despite the unsettlingly warm grin he still wore. There was something else within that charismatic shell, dwelling just beneath his skin.

"I been.. Talking around town, you see," Jack took a drag from his cigarette, blowing smoke out with his next string of words, "thought, given what you said about your friend back there, he seemed just a little bit familiar.. Asked around about a man covered in burns head to toe and used to be "war veteran", as you put it." Remi felt a sudden rush of cold blood seep into his body. He wanted to begin to take steps back, to avoid what he knew was evidently to come. He watched as a big, wide and toothy grin formed over Jack's face. Remi felt and heard as he started to tap his boot to the ground. "And so, as it turns out.. Your old pal used to be called _The Burned Man_ 'round the Mojave," he said, pausing to stare right into Remi's eyes, closely calculating him. "You ever heard that name before, huh? Having traveled around these parts for so long.. Must've passed you by at least once.. — You should know, too, that this Burned Man used to be in the Legion, considering you know him so well. Legate, in fact; the only one before Lanius." Then, after that name passed his lips, Jack's smile disappeared as a whole and he dropped his cigarette onto the floor.

As the wisps of smoke died beneath the toe of Jack's boot, he spoke once again; this time with a deeper, less inviting and kind tone. "I thought that's maybe why you stopped caring about us Freesiders. That army of bastards on the other side of the river," he growled, boot clicking as he continued to grind that cigarette onto the wood floor till it was a sad, dark pile of paper and ash. "That it, Remi?" He asked.

Remi hesitated. He felt cold right down to his bones, like the color in his cheeks had drained to a lifeless white. Fear was the absolute rarest feeling for the Courier, and yet he felt it in this very situation. He feared one day losing the trust of the people of Freeside given his association with the Legion, which was forged with the intention of keeping the slavers and savages away from those who he considered his own people. He felt a terrible wrenching in his stomach to see the discovery of his ties with the army of Caesar were discovered through none other than Joshua. He had hoped such a thing would've never happened. "No. No.. It's not, Jack," he watched as the greaser's lip twitched with agitation. He didn't believe Remi. "Look, you gotta understand Joshua hasn't been with the Legion for years, and you should know that, too, if you took the time to learn about The Burned Man legend. He was exiled and attempted executed, people thought he was dead- some still do- and—"

"Shut up," Jack hissed. "That isn't what I meant," he snapped, lunging forward with that statement, getting right up in Remi's face like a feral dog about to attack. Jack sighed, ran his fingers through his hair as to fix it. He was making some effort to compose himself. "I ain't stupid. I know his legend, I know he's not Legion. It's you, though, I don't know about," he said, "see, after your visits first started getting less frequent, you came back into town with a darker, angrier look in your eyes. Figured it was just the toll a man took when he walked the Mojave. Then.. Then you left. For wherever you found Joshua, I assume. Came back even darker than you already were. Spent a couple good months, almost a year, visiting us .. what? ..every other week? Something like that. Then you left again. Then— Then you come back with Joshua in your care.. And, well, I frankly haven't seen you nor have I ever imagined you this dark. You look more dead than you do alive these days. Like.. Like a real soldier, per se. And I got this thought that Joshua and whatever Legion he's still got in his head- cause we all know you can't just rub that off- has gotten into you." He explained, seeping something deeper, more painful expression than anger as he described the Courier's lowering condition.

Jack seemed to have the disheartening idea that while he knew just fine Joshua wasn't Legion, from the influence of old Legion teachings passed off through Graham's word, Remi found himself taking the part of a misguided, hollow wanderer; falling under the flag of the Bull in search of what was presumably a rightful place in an army; underneath a greater power. The extent of just how wrong the kid was struck Remi like a 10mm bullet straight through his chest. Remi had no desire to swear himself under any flag, and while he had done work for the Legion in the past, the reason for which Jack thought he did it and why he actually did were entirely different. Remi felt cold hands clutch around his chest, fighting the space around his heart. He took a shallow step back from Jack.

"Look, Jack, me and Caesar don't got anything to do with each other. You're wrong. I know I haven't been around Freeside in these past months, but.. It's.. It's all in good intention. I have a world of other people and priorities to handle so I can at least keep my head on my shoulders," he said, pleading for Jack to drop his suspicions and leave both he and Joshua alone. "I'm still the same Remi, Jack," he pressed, sliding another foot behind him and inching further away from the greaser. Green-blue eyes darted from Remi's eyes to his feet for but a moment. "Times change and people do too, but that doesn't mean I'm not the same person at—"

In an instant, Remi was put to silence as Jack grew aware of his intention of leaving, lunging forward and grabbing Remi by the collar of his shirt, balling his first tight into thin white fabric. His nose was hardly an inch from the Courier's, azure eyes burning with just as much anger as injury. He was wounded, beneath his exterior of only being worth his crude accusations. The notion of his belief that Remi was abandoning Freeside for the likes of the Legion hurt him, crippled his fragile soul. But, for what reason, if Remi was nothing more to him than what every other resident of the scrapyard town saw him as? Perhaps it was that Jack and Remi had more history that what was obvious. There was something more behind them, something hidden within that story of the young ex-NCR being brought out of his addictions and depressions.

With his uneasy breaths settling on Remi's skin, the Courier stared into his eyes, which bled a need for revelation. Jack's teeth gritted, jaws rotating and grinding against one another before he spoke again, "_Liar_," he growled, stopping to, in one swift action, turn Remi around and shove his back up against the wall, pinning him. Now, taken into considering the size difference between these two- Jack being shorter and leaner- Remi could easily throw him off and overpower him if he so pleased. He was choosing not to. He was allowing Jack to expel his anger for some unfathomable reason. Generally, Remi would've thrown the smaller man to the ground right as he set his hands up by his neck on his collar like he did. There was something in particular going around in Remi's head that convinced him to allow Jack to advance on him. However, simply out of the Courier's abrasive nature, soon as Jack tried to inflict any other violence- or turn his attention to Joshua- he'd have his nose bent the exact wrong way.

"You're acting like a child, like you would've back when—"

"When I was still a worthless squatter, right?" Jack challenged, "when I couldn't tell right from wrong just like I couldn't see what was in front of me?" He asked, giving an audible huff and momentarily ducking his head, looking away. When he brought his eyes back up, a couple strands from his tunnel snake had fallen out of place, draining that perfect, composed and charismatic demeanor he always wore. "Look, don't you dare treat me like I don't know what I'm talking about. I know just where I'm going and what I'm doing," he said lowly. Jack shifted his tightly coiled knuckles in Remi's shirt, pulling the fabric so tight Remi was afraid it might tear. "I know just what you are," he exhaled.

From behind them, Joshua continued to watch in controlled silence. He found no initiative to take action as of yet, though he stood with a tense and tall stature that read abrasiveness. At the first notice of Jack crossing a line he himself wouldn't, he might just impose. Joshua's arms were still tightly crossed, fingers tapping consistently and habitually against his bicep, slate eyes narrow and intently watching the two. He hadn't quite taken notice, but around the casino, the rest of the visitors didn't pay any mind to Remi and Jack. It was a common occurrence around here for Kings, squatters, Silver Rush members, or even the NCR to get into fights with one another. Most were drunken brawls over caps, granted, but regardless, conflict was common around here; especially in lowlife-crawling places like the Atomic Wrangler.

As Joshua continued to watch, he noted as Remi opened his mouth to talk again, only this time he was immediately shut down by Jack bringing him closer, off the wall and slamming him back into it, snapping the back of the Courier's head against solid brick. Graham studied the expressions worn on the two men's faces; desperate, misled fury in Jackelope, and a strange sympathy in Remi. Joshua's eyes dripped a slowly growing blue color, such as pale cornflower, as Remi took the uncivil, aggressive speech he could tell was slipping from Jack's lips, holding a solitary expression of feigned hardness and composure.

However, this time around when Remi opened his mouth back up to say something in return, Jack up and let go of his shirt, swift turning around and stepping a couple feet away from Remi, wiping his forearm across his face to clear his eyes. He felt his muscles tense and his eyes fall back to gray as Jack turned back around to meet Remi, who'd stepped off the wall, and landed a punch directly to the right side of his jaw. Joshua subconsciously took a step forward, a rush of blood coursing through him, telling him to defend the Courier. He stopped for simple consideration of _why_ he would be defending that man, watching the two men continue.

Remi stumbled back to the wall, holding his face. However, as Jack brought back his arm for another swing, opening himself up, Remi took his opportunity and administered a swift, boot-clad kick to his stomach. Joshua flinched as he heard the audible sound of pain Jack made, coiling over and holding both hands to his abdomen. Graham noted the immediate swell of power in the larger man, holding his shoulders high and square, ignoring the aching bruise on his jaw as if it were just a sting from a baby Bloatfly. Remi was assuming the attitude he always did when he got into a fight; the mentality whose only concern was winning. This made him aggressive, and damn near ruthless.

Jack scrambled across the floor, backing up a good five feet before he hauled himself up and stood straight. His chest heaved with steeper breaths, green-blue eyes watching Remi with cautious, dilated pupils. As Remi drew back his fist to land a potentially fight-ending blow, knowing the pure force he would use, Jack darted his hand into his leather jacket and forced Remi's first unclenched without even the need of another touch, nor another word. Joshua watched from his place as a glow of silver metal clicked out of a black hilt, waving around between Jack's fingers just before the Courier. He'd unsheathed his switchblade, held it out as if he was ready to slice right through Remi, leather and skin alike.

Remi felt his breaths thicken, and a dryness well in his mouth and throat. He tried to swallow nervously, backing himself toward the wall once again. He didn't fear Jack, no, but the look in his eyes.. So raw and broken as he was, he feared what Jack might try to do. And, taking Joshua into consideration, he couldn't allow himself to be badly injured, let alone killed. Far too much responsibility rested on his shoulders for him to allow himself to be felled.

"Jack, you don't have to—"

"_You_ don't tell me what I do and don't have to do," he growled as he slashed the knife for Remi's chest, missing and nicking just the fabric of his left sleeve as Remi turned his body away from the knife. Jack practically snarled as he saw he'd missed, though, rather than coming in for another slash, he backed up several feet. Remi furrowed his brows with some confusion, coming out of his turned defensive stance.

Jack held his arms out wide and gestured to himself with his fingers. "Well?" He goaded on. "That it, you're not gonna try to hit me again?" He barked, "Not man enough to fight me back anymore, Remi?" It took Remi little time to realize Jack was simply tying to dig up a reaction reminiscent of the Courier's old behavior, where he would have taken a hit and leapt into this fight head-first. Jack was trying to bring out the Remi that was fists first, words second; that would have broken his wrist and taken that toothpick of a knife in an instant. He was trying to bring out the Remi he remembered, not the worn and cautious man risking his life time and time again for the life of a man who history tried to kill twice, who was beginning to value loyalty more than his booze after so many years of the inverse. Jack was still, underneath all his words, desperate to believe Remi wasn't changing.

The longer Remi stood solemn and unmoved by Jack's saber-rattling, the more furious the greaser seemed to get. His eyes were a clouded, vibrant mess of aquamarine color. He dropped his arms and took a lunge forward, stopping with his knife at its side, blade pressed to Remi's neck. The Courier arched his chin up and pressed his head to the wall, trying to distance himself from that knife that only seemed to push closer. Remi could hear Jack's unsettled breathing in his ear.

"Are you just not strong enough, that it?" He asked lowly. Remi cleared his throat and swallowed before he spoke, feeling the cold metal up against him as his Adam's apple bobbed against it.

"I'm not weak enough," he choked out, managing to fix his eyes on Jack's after those words passed his lips. For a moment, Jack broke. His expression of anger and misunderstanding, the force at which his blade pressed to Remi's neck, faltered. For only a moment, he looked weak, vulnerable. For only a moment, he realized his fault. This was, however, only a moment. By the blink of an eye, his eyes were no longer a light but a fire, raging and scorching all before it in green-blue licks of heat. In all but another second's passing, Jack had drawn his arm back to thrash his blade through the Courier's neck, unable to control his fury any longer, unable to see to what extent he had taken the situation.

And all that filled the Courier's vision was black.

But, thank God there wasn't a light to follow that darkness just yet. — All Remi could hear was his heart beating and his blood pulsing through his ears after a stinging numbness swelled in his head, unable to understand what was around him other than the blackness of his own eyelids. He had, for a moment before the sound of his heart beating came through, felt an odd lightness on his chest. Acceptance of what he thought would be a pathetic, sad death for a legend; if not for a pair of strong, calloused hands snatching the back of Jack's collar and slamming him down onto the floor before his blade could meet flesh.

As Remi grew conscious of his eyes being closed at all and reopened them to the casino surrounding him, his wide pupils immediately came to the two body masses before him, one still on the floor and the other standing over it. With his vision blurry, he tried to take in the scene, moving his blue eyes to the face of the figure over the one on the floor. This one's face was most definitely not Jack's; its skin was odd, uneven and inconsistent tones of color, as if it were terribly scared or otherwise marked by time. Then, another distinctive trait came into view; slate gray eyes, shifting to look right at him.

Remi felt a chill down his spine. There was no doubt in his mind that was Joshua. Blinking numerous times to clear his fogged vision, Remi leaned himself off the wall and half-stumbled to Graham. With his vision coming to him, he looked over the scene to see Jack unconscious on the ground, switchblade an inch from the hand it'd fallen out of, and pretty face stained with blood running from his nose. He wasn't badly injured, but he sure as hell wouldn't be waking up any time soon. Joshua took care of that all right. Remi then looked back up to Joshua, who had some blood on his knuckles and a familiar look in his eyes. Same one he used to give Remi when he got into mindless fits of anger.

The Courier cleared his throat, embarrassed by the notion of Graham having fought a battle for him. That had never happened before, and he had never wanted to see it happen. But.. Here, in this particular situation with this particular person, he didn't have much of a choice. Fighting Jack back would have proven an awful decision, and for once in Remi's life, he realized that before he gave into his desire to break someone's jaw and see blood painting the backs of his knuckles. Remi looked from Jack's body to Joshua, opening his mouth as to speak, though as soon as Graham saw that, he shut him up with own deep, gruff voice.

"You're gonna get your damn booze and you're going to tell me everything you haven't yet about Jack once we're out of here," he asserted, iron eyes digging into him like dulled blades. Remi felt his chest tightening, reluctant to adhere to what was asked of him. He knew, however, he would have to; and end up doing so regardless one way or another.

Before he could say anything in return, Joshua was turning to leave and walk out the door, obviously all but done with Freeside by now. Remi sighed and cast his eyes down at Jackelope, unconscious on the filthy floor. He felt some regret in desiring something dangerous happening to him and Graham, just for the fact it'd ended up being Jack they'd come into conflict with. The poor kid; so composed and controlled, a perfect picture of charisma and suave, up until this point. That was just what Remi knew Joshua was going to inquire about.

"First time in your life you left a bad first impression, kid," Remi muttered before walking out of the casino after Joshua, taking his crate which now had three new, full bottles of vodka sitting in it.


	16. Chapter 15

_Hey, all! I hope you're all having a great holiday season &amp; have an even better upcoming year. This update's chapter is a little shorter, but it's got plenty of information to digest, so no worries. Everybody get ready for storytime with Remi. _

_**Also!** Two additional updates: **1)** I've come to a decision where Jack will fall throughout the rest of the story. You'll see in future updates. **2)** I might be starting a secondary project on the side; that being a Butch DeLoria/Lone Wanderer shortstory._

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Joshua didn't even care to look back to be sure Remi was following him as he left the casino and started to walk down the road which led out this place and back into the Mojave. He knew Remi would follow, and regardless, he didn't have even the slightest desire to have his eyes meet those cornflower blues, for his slate grays would undoubtably burn right through them. Graham walked with a tenseness in his shoulders, hands balled into fists at his sides. He walked at a faster pace then Remi, who did indeed follow about five feet back, and had the eyes of Kings members lining the streets wandering over to him. They watched him with an air of intimidation, and not one of them would confront the burned man as he went to leave the Freeside streets. They feared him for the reputation Remi had given him, alongside the Legion had established for him years ago.

Remi, walking not far behind Joshua, returned the stares and glances of the Kings members unlike his former Legion companion, all of whom watched him in a manner much different than how they watched Joshua. Their eyes sat upon him and sank into his skin like the radioactive acids in the bottom of Vault 32 with a look of disappointment, loss of respect, and shame. They lacked the legitimate injury Jack had, but they still held a look that said their opinion on Remi's disappearance from Freeside nice and clear. He felt himself become unable to swallow, nervous and dry-mouthed, as he walked through that street. Now more than ever did he feel vulnerable and out of place with that Kings jacket on his back, and to such a surprise given its foreignness to the Legion, the NCR, and the Fiends. It was a shame he felt such a disconnect around men wearing the same jacket.

Leaving Freeside sank his heart like a stone, flinching at the sound of the heavy metal gates closing behind him. It made him feel guilty just to be exiting the scrapyard town once again, even if he had good reason to and had no reason to've stayed regardless. It simply hurt to know his absence, his walking out of those heavy gates, was the very thing drawing the condescending glares of Kings members onto him. Outside the front gates, Kings members no longer stood watch and the smell of their cigarettes had all but faded. The three previously there were no longer present, and to no surprise, as the two who were previously with Jack were probably like crows flying over a dying coyote to him, following him wherever he went. They were probably at his aid back in the bar where Joshua had left him.

By the time Joshua and Remi returned back to the shack, it was a couple hours past noon and Remi felt his head aching with a familiar distaste for the silence swelling around him. The only sound coming across his ears was the whisper of wind moving dust and the crunch of his and the burned man's boots on sand. Through all these months, even through weeks of absolute silence from Graham, Remi still wasn't quite over his intolerance for a lack of noise. It endured, such as many other aspects of his personality. That including his stubborn nature.

The first sound to break the silence around him was a familiar one, that of the old shack door creaking as its old, rusting frame was pulled open. The next was footsteps hitting solid wood, echoing that hollow, crisp sound. Remi noted that Joshua walked into the small home, stopping in the entryway with his hand on the door, holding it open, to turn to Remi, gesturing with a tip of his chin for the Courier to come inside behind him. "Come on, I don't wanna get dust inside," he grumbled as an excuse for Remi to hurry up and get inside behind him.

Remi scoffed. "It'll get in anyway. That door ain't very much protection," he replied, stepping up onto the porch and slipping past Joshua into the small makeshift home. The scrap metal panels making up the floor moaned and whined as his boots pressed down atop them, sinking his weight onto their thin metal frames. He heard the wincing and settling of metal plates double as Joshua stepped in after him and shut the door, passing him again as he went to sit himself up atop Raul's work table, pressing his back to the wall behind him. His legs dangled over the edge of the table at his knees, though he brought one leg up to prop his foot against the table, then resting an elbow on the bent knee.

Remi sat across from him in his usual chair, swinging it over in front of Joshua and straddling it, setting his elbows on the frame of the chair like he usually did. Remi's blue eyes fixated up on Graham, whose slate eyes stared away from him and out a wide crack between two wooden planks in the shack wall, watching the horizon and glowing lights of New Vegas in the distance. He didn't bother looking to the Courier, though he knew his blue eyes were on him, as if trying to implore for him to talk about what he'd demanded to know about back in Freeside.

At least it seemed he'd calmed down enough not be forcing information out of Remi as soon as he could.

Soon as Remi leaned forward, swallowing before he opened his lips to speak, Joshua's deeper, gruffer voice spoke over him. "You know what I want to know, and I want to know everything about it. So, start talking," he said, shifting his eyes to settle on Remi, who closed his mouth momentarily and glanced at his hands, collecting his thoughts.

He swallowed a breath back before speaking at Joshua's request, answering what he'd asked for. Joshua deserved answers, though there was no telling from Remi if he was telling his past exactly how it had unraveled or if he was twisting words in the favor of either he or his listener.

"Jack and I have more history than I told you. — A lot- a lot more," he began, subconsciously rubbing his hands together in his lap, "When he first came into Freeside, as an NCR solider, y'know, I was one of the first people he met, and, well.. I was a lot different then. The first conversation Jack and I had was after a fist fight that ended with him pulling his service rifle and me pulling my .44 Magnum," he said, swallowing and briefly biting his lower lip, "I mean— as you can tell, neither of us did too much damage, seeing as we're still walking around and breathing n' all," he said, scoffing a short, uneasy chuckle. "Whole little dispute, us getting into a fight, was over a jet deal I was.." He paused in the midst of his story, as if the nature of what he was saying had just dawned on him, and looked to Joshua as to hope he knew what he was describing a Remi from a long time ago, ".._Overseeing,"_ he put it lightly. "Evidently, as you could guess, Jack wanted that jet. And he wanted it bad. My guess was that was the only place he could get it without stealing it from either the Followers, the NCR, Kings, or one of the Strip families, who are all terrible ideas to steal from. So he stole from me- or at least tried to. Too bad he didn't know that jet deal was through me and to the Kings regardless."

At this point in Remi's story, Joshua head leaned forward as he intently listened, displaying a genuine interest of the history being described to him. He seemed to be digesting every word, every tone, taking in and analyzing every piece and trying to put the ashes together into pieces which he would slide into the puzzle he labeled as the man sitting in front of him. Joshua, at heart, was asking for this story of Remi's for the purpose of a greater, deeper understanding of his companion and his life-shaping past. This was, as it could be taken, an effort to regain some degree of trust and understanding of Remi. An effort to bring him forth out of the overcast shadow of an enemy and into the light of a friend. — Well, perhaps at this point, an ally; an acquaintance; at the least.

"..So, after I gave Jack a nasty blow to the head with the back of my gun- provin' he never would'a shot first anyway- I brought him back to the motel I was stayin' in at the time. Whole time he was out, I kept an eye on him. Had to make sure the little sucker wasn't gonna die on me. God, at the time he was pale as an albino deathclaw save for the dark rings under his eyes. I swear his fingers twitched while he slept, too… sure fire case of withdrawal," he explained, "My guess is he was tryin' so hard to get that jet cause he felt like he was gonna keel over and die if he didn't," he said. Joshua observed Remi had some degree of empathy with how he described Jack's condition, as if he may've experienced it for himself in the past. "Lucky for me, Jack woke up the next morning, and the lump on his head wasn't big enough to make him any dumber. First he woke up, I was talkin' a couple Kings off my doorstep. Closed the door and turned around to the biggest, most terrified blue eyes I'd ever seen."

Remi twitched a short smile as memories snuck through his mind, "Anyhow, skip forward a couple of weeks, I'd let the kid go back to the NCR with a warning, told him to hold off the jet or I'd leave a bruise on the other side of his head. Next thing I know, the kid's a squatter on the side of the road, decommissioned from the NCR on account of stealing chems.. And I wasn't even the least bit surprised." He sighed. "First time I saw him after he fell out the NCR, no caps to his name and an addiction scratchin' hours off his life every time he took a hit, first thing I noticed was those stupid fucking blue eyes. And, man.. That kid had eyes like pre-war gems you'd only see in magazines. There was somethin' about 'em too; no matter how broken or how beaten that kid was, no matter how dark everything else got, those eyes stayed bright. Guess that's what drove me to help him."

"Fast forward another couple'a weeks later, I'd picked the kid up, kicked his ass a few more times, trained him off jet for a few weeks, and I was sneakin' him into the King's House of Impersonation while I was wrapped around the King's finger, doin' his dirty work and gettin' the NCR off his back for him till I earned a favor from him. I got my passport into New Vegas, and Jack a place in the Kings.. I thought from there, hey, it was time he went our separate ways. I'd bonded with the kid, yeah, we had our long talks, but no where near as much as he had with me. Sometimes I wish I'd known that at the time.." He drew in another breath.

"…After that, I left. Followed my _trail of destiny_ into the Strip and out of Freeside, on the lonesome road I thought I belonged on; one that headed for a mister Benny Gecko and Robert House, not to a Jackelope. I guess the kid never anticipated my leaving him alone and on his lonesome, and.. I guess I should have, at some point, told him I was never staying in Freeside from the get-go, but.." Joshua watched as a growing distance and pain welled under Remi's expression. "But, the past is the past," he shrugged. "—I was gone for months at that point, between traveling the expanse of the Mojave to fighting battles on Legionary soil and in the steel walls of Vaults. I was long gone, and Jack was left to his own devices. That's the time period when he earned his horns and learned to stand on his own two feet, but also the time he decided I wasn't the man he thought I was," he said, perhaps even a little shame in his eyes as they momentarily cast away.

"By the time I came back to Freeside, 'round the time I had finished making an ally out of The Boomers and The Khans, Jack was.. Different. Practically a new man. He wasn't a drug-hooked kid walkin' the streets with a shaky trigger finger anymore. He walked high n' mighty with his Kings jacket on his back, always had a cigarette or a knife in his hand, did his hair up in a tunnel snake just like they did, too. Became a real Freesider. Now, I never knew exactly what happened in those months I was gone, but I know when I came back Jack had plenty of Kings that would rally behind him and defend him by tooth and nail. I wish I knew when and where he earned all that respect, and when he grew the damn balls he did, cause first time I set foot back in Freeside that kid was waitin' inside the gates to see me with a big-ass grin and those stupid bright eyes," he shook his head, "asked me where I'd been and if I missed him with that snarky look on his face he carries around nowadays."

Remi scoffed. "Kid turned into a real smartass, liked to prod at me and burn cigarette butts on my jacket when he passed me in bars. Guess he held some child-like grudge against me for leavin'. Somethin' like that. Maybe he just found his confidence and thought himself higher than me. ..From there, Jack and I only had one more big point in our history. The night before I was 'bout to leave Freeside again, after the Sierra Madre this time, I passed Jack standing in an alleyway with some thugs beatin' the living shit out of him.. And you know me, I couldn't just let him get his brains blown out his ear, so I helped him. Drove a pair of spiked knuckles right through those squatter's heads, and, man.. When Jack looked up at me from the ground, I swear that was the only time his eyes lost some brightness. Maybe that was in part the black eye, but.." He shrugged, "I think, though, it was the guilt on him. When I picked the kid up, I found him holdin' a jet syringe in his hand for dear life. Hidin' it from me; ashamed that was what he'd gotten beaten to a pulp over."

"Jack and I had a long talk then. Made him stay the night with me and hand over his chems. By morning, his eyes were blue again, and they got deep as the Colorado when they looked at me. Especially when I was leavin'." And with that, Remi's story concluded. He leaned back in his chair and sighed, blowing out all those memories with the break slipping out of his lungs. "That's everything," he concluded briefly.

Joshua, who sat still a moment longer with his slate eyes deadlocked on Remi, calculating and analyzing him, moved and hopped off the counter. "Thank you," he said, "…I understand Jack is more than a past rival. From now on, though, we leave him be. At least in my company, _you_ will," he said before walking past Remi and toward his bed. He sat down on the mattress whose springs creaked under his weight, and sighed with some discontent, "Now, regardless, don't I need new bandages before I can sleep?"

Remi grinned, surprised and uplifted by Graham's acceptance of at least minimal caregiving. The Courier stood from his chair and grabbed his box of medical supplies before walking over to the burned man.

The remainder of their night was filled with short, simple conversation and complaining of bandages being bound too tight before they both went to sleep under the Mojave's cloudcover-speckled moon.

As the sun came to replace the ivory orb in the sky to announce the next coming day, Joshua was awakened by the familiar, unsettling sound of a rifle cocking. He jolted in his bed, sitting up with furrowed brows and cautious eyes only to see Remi sitting across the room, in his chair, loading a second hunting rifle while the one he'd just cocked sat on a table. He relaxed as The Courier's soft blue eyes met his, thusly reassuring him everything was alright.

"Good to see you're up, sunshine," he said, the metallic echo of his rifle in hand being cocked filling the room before he stood and walking to the bed. Joshua sat up, and braced as the metal frame of the .308 Caliber was pushed up against his chest. A certain shock overtook Joshua's gray eyes, one profound and undeniably _perplexed_. Just yesterday Remi wouldn't give him a pistol, now he'd just set a rifle in his hands. What an interesting display of asking just how much Joshua trusted Remi, and how much Remi trusted him. However.. For what reason would Remi initiate this display? Hunting rifles aren't something a wastelander would so easily waste on targeting practice.

A smile peeked on Remi's cheeks, and he spoke as Joshua's hands curled around the gun and took it into his own grip. "C'mon. Get up, get dressed; we're going hunting."


	17. Chapter 16

_Hey, all! Happy end of the first month of 2015. I hope the new year's been going well for everyone. This month's chapter's got some pretty important events building up toward bigger events. Next chapter might have some action in store as well._

_Also- The next ( and probably final ) chapter of **Daylight** will be published relatively soon. I would estimate within the month._

_Happy reading!_

* * *

Hunting. _Really. _Joshua sincerely hoped Remi didn't expect him not to know this little planned expedition of theirs was in the prospect to reinforce their fragile trust. Out in the Mojave, the exercising of tasks such as hunting and gathering were ones left dormant long ago, back in the world of old, far before the Great War had even started. In the new world, people relied on trade and scavenging to forage for their food and animal-based goods. Not a single soul in the wasteland would waste a good bullet on the hide of a coyote, and Remi was indisputably one of those many souls.

Joshua had a suspicion this idea of Remi's was derived from the notion that back in Zion canyon, where Graham learned to live by the customs of the old war-based tribal people, that hunting was a common chore that either he or his people often undertook. He was wrong, admittedly, but he would take to heart nonetheless that Remi would have put something such as that to thought just in the hopes to regain Joshua's broken, soiled trust. It proved to him not trust just yet, no, but that Remi was determined in pursuits, and that his intentions were plainly far from evil. At least, not an evil such as that fostered by Caesar's Legion.

Joshua stood up off his bed after Remi had stepped away and walked toward the door, where he leaned against the wall and slung his rifle across his back by a strap that wrapped over his shoulder and across his chest. Graham briefly glanced up at him meanwhile setting his gun down on the bed and grabbing both a dusty white t-shirt and leather boots from off a metal shelf near the beds. Remi's clothes, as he'd noticed, not only how they looked but how they smelled. Raul smelled of metal and oil, while Remi was very pungently of gun smoke, leather, and the natural musk constantly caught in the nostrils of a wanderer of the Mojave. Dust and sunshine, in other words. A very distinct smell; at least in contrast to the Ghoul and himself.

His own clothes— the iconic snake-skin shoes and vest combo— had been soiled in blood so many weeks ago and were no longer wearable considering the festering disease and germs within dried crimson caked with mud. Joshua would have them cleaned someday, or perhaps even discard them. That all depended on if he chose to part with the sentimental pieces of clothing, however. For the time being, though, he was content with wearing whatever he was given.

He pulled the shirt over his dried, red skin and smoothed it down over his jeans, fingertips making brief contact with his sensitive burned skin. It was a bit lengthy on him considering his counterpart's height in contrast to his, but it wasn't too much to bare. Remi may notice, but even then, he doubted. He then kneeled down to slip on the black boots and lace them from bottom to top. It was something short of a miracle he and Remi somehow wore the same size shoe. One would think the Courier had feet big enough to put a Deathclaw's to shame. Remi was built through-and-through with the genetics a heavy-palmed and broad-chested warrior. Maybe even something more alone the lines of a lumberjack, were they still playing off of old-war stereotypes.

Joshua tucked the ends of his jeans into the boots, which came a few inches short of his knees, and stood up, turning to grab his rifle and sling it over his shoulder by its strap before stepping up to the door, casting his eyes at the Courier, who smiled, plenty eager to go… "hunting." Joshua had some doubt Remi even knew how to hunt, unless it was in the context of caps. Remi slipped in front of him and out the door, briefly holding it open while Graham walked out before letting it creak closed. Joshua had his hand clasped onto the leather strap of his gun, and Remi had his hands lazily crossed over his chest.

Graham stood with his shoulders high, eyes out to the Mojave sky— until they found themselves turning to glare at Remi, who was looking him up and down as if examining him. "What?" He prompted, catching the Courier's attention and his eyes, which were attentive and blue as fresh cornflowers.

"Don't you need more bandages before you wanna leave?" He asked curiously, noting the lack of gauze enveloping the burned man's skin. He still had the large patches and wraps of white which Remi had put on the day before the cover his healing wounds, but no more than that. Sure, he'd gone out with that little the day before, but it hadn't really crossed Remi's mind then. Plus, they weren't going to be out in the sun for hours when they were going into Freeside. Now, with a day's worth of scouring the desert ahead of them, it occurred to him the condition of Joshua's skin.

Joshua, glancing down at himself, casting eyes over the red-mottled caucasian skin he used to carefully and punctually keep underneath neat, clean bandages day in and day out, now carelessly left to feel the sunlight. While it was true his skin consistently remembered the cruel acid tongues and gnashing jaws of fire, burning ceaselessly, he had learned to ignore it. Such as he had learned to ignore the treacheries of the Legion, then the inhumanity of the Mojave, then the signs of Remi's disloyalty, and most recently the threat of death breathing down his neck for the second time; he had learned to set it off in a corner of his mind and disregard the pain, even if it proved worse when at the mercy of the hot Mojave sun. The disregard of his burned skin was a mark of a lesson learned, a progression forward in his road of life. It was, in a way, a milestone of having learned to bare the burdens of life- of history- in pursuit of living without crippling self-pity. A wound more devastating than that of any sword nor fire.

It was only now that that had finally dawned on Remi and Joshua both. While Joshua had been living it for the past several weeks, maybe even longer, it was now that his mind finally put it to words, per se. Joshua returned Remi's glance and briefly replied, "No. I've gotten used to being without them." While that was the truth, it was highly simplified. Hopefully Remi knew enough of Joshua to implore further without a need for elaboration.

Remi paused a moment, taken a bit aback by Joshua's response, having figured he'd get defensive, but easily shook it off. "If ya say so.." He shrugged briefly, then pivoted on his heel to face the expanse of the Mojave ahead of them, littered by the sight of the concrete overpass in the distance, and a cracked highway splitting the dry desert earth. Remi faced South, in the direction of smaller settlements such as Goodsprings, where there lie a large expanse of unoccupied land, empty enough for creatures of the wastes to roam and breed freely. He glanced back at Joshua, "Gotta get movin' so we catch 'em before they're out and huntin' for themselves," he said, beginning to walk forward, directing his eyes back to the dim-light dampened sky, accented by the sun cresting over the eastern mountains.

Joshua followed willingly, though somewhere in the back of his head he still wondered if Remi had even the faintest idea of exactly what it was he was doing. How would he know if early morning was the right time to head out, other than running off of logical assumptions? He tried to hold onto some faint hope that Remi would prove himself to have some form of experience or knowledge of hunting, whether it be from pre-war books, waste wanderers, or past excursions on his own.

That hope of such was, admittedly, very small. Given Remi's behaviorism, he wouldn't be surprised to find Remi was relying entirely off of assumption. Joshua began to walk, step by step, crunch by crunch of soil under his boots as he settled in at Remi's side. Joshua didn't look back even once as the proceeded away from the small shack, not for concern of its loneliness without Raul currently within its walls nor for the valuable items harbored within at the mercy of being on their lonesome. He seemed oddly content with the risk of setting out without that small, lonely shack protected. He seemed at ease, as if nearly every material item, sentimental or not, didn't come across as a concern to him. Likely another symptom if his disregard of the hardships of life, and the simple notion of letting himself relax and ride the tides of fate.

He and Remi walked a long ways out into the desert, continuing their trek even as the sun had settled into its rightful place directly overtop their heads. Joshua would occasionally cast his slate eyes to the sky to examine the position of that single bright star, evaluating the time of day as it passed by. Remi, on the other hand, kept his eyes glued to the tan and ash dirt spanning for miles ahead of him, scanning the soft hills and cactus-scattered ridges of the desert with keen blue eyes.

Thus far, the most life they'd seen was a Mole Rat pup squealing and running off in another direction, likely back to its parent. The two had decided not to pursue it or its potential mother hiding just around another barrel cactus, finding there should be some kind of prey out in the Mojave that would bare much better fruits. Like a coyote, or even a wild Big Horner. Maybe a lost Brahmin if they got lucky. Something that wasn't tattered with radiation and mutation, at the least. However, if they were to continue walking for too many more hours, they would lower the standards of their endeavors and settle for whatever edible animal they could find.

Another hour later, and another several miles walked, both Remi and Joshua began to drip lower and lower in patience. The sun was lingering high and bright above them, drooling heat down onto their shoulders, thus defeating Remi's original intention of utilizing the soft, dim morning light which would have- in theory- kept the creatures groggy and at bay.

That wouldn't stop him, however, and wouldn't even get him close to so much as considering giving up and heading home early. Joshua knew such, and so came to the conclusion he wouldn't bother with asking if they should begin their way back to Raul's anytime soon. He'd let Remi walk and walk as he pleased, humoring his persistence 'till the brunette courier declared himself exhausted and disappointed. Which was just what he anticipated by sundown, at the latest.

Unfortunately, Joshua's assumptions began to grow doubtful as Remi, with a spark lighting in his eyes as they came upon a thicket of bushes and a shallow hill, heard the shuffle of paws nearby. Just a brief scuff of animal's feet to dirt, a brief whisper of the presence of the animal. No guarantee. Immediately, the courier had stopped dead in the dirt and darted his eyes around, mounting his rifle, holding the butt to his shoulder as he surveyed the surrounding empty plains. Joshua, however, just stayed standing and still. His gun remained at rest, muzzle pointed to the ground. He'd heard it to, however he figured by now whatever it was had already gotten scared off by Remi's shuffling around in the dirt. He never was a master of stealth, thus making him a poor hunter as well.

Tipping his rifle down and head up, scanning the desert from a broader perspective, Remi furrowed his brows and huffed. "I know whatever it is ain't gone.." He muttered irritably under his breath. Joshua glanced over at him, then to the land at which he stared, and decided not to impose. He was sure there was nothing out there by now; the only sound in any direction from them was the wind and the occasional echo of a crow's call. He would only humor Remi and his efforts for his incredible determination. He also, admittedly, wouldn't mind relishing in the courier's disappointment once he discovered there still wasn't an animal for miles.

Standing still beside Remi, his attention was suddenly alerted and his brows furrowed as he suddenly watched Remi brace next to him and pull his rifle right back up into position, tip waving back and forth wildly, searching for _something. _However, just before he could inquire, he was grabbed by a firm hand to the collar of his shirt, causing him to grunt and take a rough puff of air with surprise, then practically thrown onto the ground as Remi took him down with him as he went to lie on his stomach along the height of the small hill. Joshua grumbled and sighed, opening his mouth and not even getting a word out before Remi hissed a _"shhhhh"_ at him. He growled under his breath, and noticed the courier wouldn't even look at him.

He was fixated on something ahead of him, blue eyes wide and locked into the scope of his rifle. He stared out into the Mojave like he was dead-set onto something, searching for a perfectly lined up shot. Joshua, shifting on his belly in the dirt, moved to take out his own rifle and look in same direction of Remi. If he couldn't speak nor impose, he would at least try to see what it was Remi was so focused on.

He, to his own confusion, still didn't see a damn thing. Yet beside him he heard the sound of Remi frantically shuffling in the dirt and cocking his rifle. "I see her good n' clear now.. Little bit to the west.." He muttered, lining up a shot meanwhile giving Graham a vague idea of where his unidentified prey stood. Joshua grew flustered, scanning the desert with straining eyes for whatever it was Remi was preparing to shoot. It was only seconds before that trigger might have fired that a glimpse of rusted brown fur caught his gaze, and he made a great effort to lock onto the animal, at least a half a mile out.

There, through the scope of his rifle, stood an animal that stole the breath from his chest. A creature unknown to the post-war world and a treasure to the pre-war one; it stood only about four feet high, speckled in white on a coat of oaky brown with short, pale antlers sprouting from its forehead like trees and reaching for the sunlight above. A _deer_. A living, breathing deer, flicking its tall ears back and forth as it surveyed the barren desert on a pointless quest for fresh food it may never find. Even from here, Joshua could see the spectacle of a creature's bones prodding out from under a thin, drum-tight layer of skin as its stalky limbs moved.

He lie in utter disbelief, unaware of his own breathing and heartbeat as his mind, captivated by the question of why his God had shown him this relic of the old world. His head felt light and unaware of his surroundings, becoming less grounded, such as he usually was, and more up in his thoughts. He didn't even think about the courier beside him, who was ticking his knuckles around his rifle, staring through the scope as he lined up a shot. He struggled with doing so, too, as the deer continued a steady walking pace with its nose pointed to the ground, sniffing for food.

He grumbled and cursed under his breath, shuffling around and moving the crosshair of his rifle with the deer as he moved. He couldn't quite line up a shot, and with this situation, this creature, hitting him in the wrong spot might mean destroying a portion of his good meat. He had to be careful; he had to be precise. "..C'mon, c'mon… Let me get a good look at you.." He whispered, that low and gruff string of words floating right over Joshua's head and not even quite registering to him.

As the deer paced, he came up upon a small, sickly green-tan bush. Joshua watched as its short tail perked up with hope, and it poked its long snout into the midst of small leaves and branches. The frail, dry bush shuddered and withered as he shuffled his nose around within it. With a sudden jolt and hop backward, the deer came up out of the bush, shaking his head and stamping its hooves to the ground. Joshua watched intently, drawing the conclusion he had probably gotten pricked by a thorn in the small plant, as it was rare to find plants in the Mojave without thorns as a general rule.

The deer, folding his ears back against his head, stood still in the dirt. His tail had dropped as well, and, taking a sudden pause and staring ahead.. He then turned his head, gaze turning and staring forward and up, right in the direction of the burned man and the courier. A sudden spark hit Joshua's chest. He felt as if the animal was staring right at him, despite the extent of just how unlikely that was. He felt as if he was staring right into his large, black eyes, which slowly blinked every so often. Though it had only been a moment as of yet, he felt like he'd become stuck in that stare for minutes.

There, staring at the creature, even as his head once again slowly turned and he faced the land south of them, Joshua felt the cold revelation of why he felt his _God_ had brought this animal out before them seep through his veins and pool into his heart. It all came to make sense as he reflected upon that innocent, hopeful stare, that intent mindset of achieving a goal so unfortunately hopeless, though as simple as finding food; Follows-Chalk. Obscure as it was; something so spiritual to come to the mind of a man so literal; he felt he knew that was the representation- the energy- of the deer. A creature harmless and pure to the likes of the Mojave, carrying aspirations of little ambition, little greed; a marvel in itself, made a target in a game it didn't know it was a part of.

His blood froze. _A target. Remi. _

In that fraction of a moment, Joshua returned from his thoughts back to his natural literal state of mind, on his belly in the dirt, and became aware of the sound of Remi muttering a quiet, "There you go, perfect.." As he lined up a final shot. Graham, in a moment's notice, dropped his rifle in the dirt and grabbed Remi's by wrapping his firm grasp around the scope and ripping it out of the courier's hands as he drew back up to his feet, scratching his knees in the dirt and stumbling just a bit as he did so. In the same moment, Remi had sputtered something in surprise and rolled onto his back, coughing a bit as dust blew over his face. He threw his hands into the air and yelled, "Joshua, what the hell do you-"

"You've no right to kill that creature," He interrupted with a snarl, eyes narrow and dead serious, gesturing out to the desert in the direction of the deer with an outstretched arm holding a rifle. He watched with a stone-cold and unwavering glare as Remi drew himself up off the ground and slowly got to his feet, eyes wide and shocked. By this point, they'd already ran out of most of their anger, and were just plainly surprised and confused.

Joshua, breaking his stare and lowering his arm, dropping Remi's rifle midair in front of him so he could catch it. Which, he did, sloppily grabbing at it before slinging it over his shoulder by its strap. After securing his rifle, he looked up to Joshua with furrowed brows and parted lips, preparing a string of irritable questions for the burned man, who had just done something he had never expected to see, and found himself shut up as Joshua simply snatched up his rifle off the ground, turned his back, and began to walk away. No explanation. No hints. Nothing.

Remi was undeniably confused beyond reason. His mind spun with attempts at putting together what had just happened, and why it had. Remi shook his head and started walking after Graham, reaching out to grab his shoulder once he got close enough. "Hey! You wanna tell me what in the hell just happened back there?" He shouted, and just as his hand squeezed Joshua's shoulder, he whipped around and grabbed his wrist, shoving it back against his chest. Remi's pupils grew wide and fixated on Joshua's face, which stared right back.

"I told you already," he stated simply and lowly. Remi grunted and shoved his arm forward, shaking Joshua off, and stepped took a swift single step back.

"You didn't give me a reason why!" He snapped back.

Joshua drew in a long inhale, pushing his chest out with filling lungs. He resented the idea of telling Remi of his abrupt spiritual connection to that animal over his lost tribe member's memory, who to his knowledge was still in Legion hands. Possibly even dead by now; or worse; desensitized and turned into a pawn of Caesar's.

"..I didn't need to give you a reason, Remi. What I said to you was reason enough. —That animal was probably the last of its kind. You had no right to kill it." Joshua carefully selected his words, covering up his bare intentions with something more plain and logical.

"And since when are you the type to take somethin' like that into account over a well earned kill?" Remi, raising his tone as frustration soaked into his confusion, took a step closer to Joshua, getting right up in his face.

Joshua exhaled through his nose in Remi's face, clenching his hands into fists at his sides to resist the urge to shove the courier away, or better yet, strike some sense into him via cheek with the back of his palm. "Since when would you have known me to kill where killing was unjust?" He growled quieter and slower. He watched with an unreadable, cold expression as Remi's own expression loosened and fell apart with sudden guilt. One of them, perhaps even both of them, remembered that Graham would have only justified killing where it was not due when he still followed the moral code of the Legion.

Remi, breaking eye contact, backed up from Joshua. He didn't say another word. He couldn't; he had no more to say that could redeem him from the raw emotion that had sparked something he hadn't intended to come off the tip of his tongue so unrefined and careless. He simply turned in the direction of Raul's shack and began walking home, with Joshua soon to begin following at about five paces behind him.

Heavy, stinging regret and embarrassment pricked at Remi's chest for the entirety of the walk back. Not a single moment passed that he didn't want to whip around and say something to Joshua he thought would fix what mistakes he'd made with his earlier statements. Not a single moment passed that another idea of another sentence crossed through his mind, replacing the last before it. He resisted, regardless of how difficult that proved to be for him. He knew it would only worsen the situation for how spiked his own emotions and paranoia undoubtably still were. He knew and forced himself to remember that whatever came out of his mouth wouldn't be perceived as he would intend it.

By the time Joshua and Remi returned to the shack, the sun was far in the eastern reaches of the sky and was beginning its gentle descent below the mountains, pooling yellow-orange light into the Mojave. By now, Raul would have returned from whatever errands he had to run throughout the day and was inside either working or napping. As Remi and Joshua would find as they slowly pushed open the wooden door and entered, the answer was the latter. The ghoul sat in his chair, at his desk, face down on its metal frame. He snored loudly and soundly, passed out asleep.

Remi had entered the small home first and left the door open for Joshua, meanwhile already making his way over to his desk, chair, and bed on the far side of the shack. He leaned back against the bedside table, setting his elbows on its wooden frame and crossing one ankle over the other, slouching. His eyes followed Graham as he entered the shack and carefully closed the metal door behind him, cautious of a possible clattering sound that could wake the sleeping ghoul. Remi only glanced away when that set of gray-blue eyes flicked up and briefly met with his.

With eyes now carefully averted, he simply listened to the soft sound of boots moving across wood as Joshua made his way to the other side of the room and leaned himself up against the same table, right beside Remi. The courier felt a prickling under his skin, a tensing in his muscles. This was the closest Joshua had _chosen_ to be to him in a long time. Weeks. Since Zion. He resisted the urge to twitch and scoot a couple inches away from the burned man. He, himself, was taken by surprise by his own urge in that moment, as it was a goal of his to regain some of Joshua's trust and once again have him hold up less of a physical guard. He simply.. Hadn't thought until this moment that he himself would have to be reconditioned to what it was like having Graham close by. So much time had passed that Joshua's closeness of any kind had become foreign.

Joshua glanced over at the courier, looking him up and down and examining what body language he could read. He sighed, letting out a long breath stored in his lungs, and allowed himself to relax. It wasn't hard to tell Graham was having to make a conscious effort to be so incredibly at ease so close to Remi, who he still held wavering, fragile trust with. The difference now as apposed to other times being close to him was that now he had seen and acknowledged Remi's attempts as regaining his trust, and was accommodating them.

"..I have some things to ask you, Courier," Joshua said, breaking the silence. A bit odd— being addressed like that— the only other person Remi had ever known to call address him as _Courier _was a man who used to hold the same title, and was as well a former agent of the Legion. This one a frumentarii, however, and nowadays a long-gone relic of the past.

Remi shuffled a bit, relaxing his muscles and settling himself beside Joshua. He still kept his eyes averted. "Go ahead," he said simply.

Joshua took in a breath, "…Follows-Chalk, I'm sure you know, was taken by the Legion shortly after you had left Zion," he began, immediately drawing Remi's reluctant gaze. The courier wondered where this was going, and why. He hadn't heard that name for weeks, not since the last time he had seen Chalk himself. "I wanted to know; I think I deserve to know; Is he alive?" Joshua asked, a quiet, hurt tenderness in his tone, breaking his usually deep and gruff pitch. He sounded like a father missing his child, which was, admittedly, a familiar thing to hear in the wasteland. "Do you know where he is?" He asked.

Remi hesitated, and immediately Joshua noticed, watching his expression closely as he waited for response. A sinking stone settled in the belly of the burned man, the looming threat of his deer- Follows-Chalk- having been shot rather than spared such as the lucky creature from their hunt. The courier cleared his throat before he spoke, "I don't know," he said shortly and bluntly.

"_You don't know?_" Joshua repeated, brows furrowing and eyes continuing to stay locked onto Remi. The courier drew in a long breath and felt his shoulders tense.

"No," he said, "I.. I never saw him. Never even heard his name. I don't think they would've—"

"Killed him? No. Not when you were there, at least. They would have- and they did- used him to get my attention, but after they did that…" Joshua trailed off, drawing in a long suck of air into his nose, briefly closing his eyes, jaw tightening. He despised the thoughts of what words followed where he stopped swirled around in his mind.

Remi said nothing following for a long while. He knew this subject was nothing to play around with, and nothing to push onto Joshua. After nearly several minutes of silence, he spoke up again, quietly asking, "…Was that what happened earlier?"

"What do you mean?" Joshua inquired gruffly.

"With the deer," he replied, "Is that why you wouldn't let me shoot it?" Joshua looked away from Remi, directing his eyes to the wall opposite him, gray eyes fixating onto a gap in the wooden planks. The courier had hit the nail on its head.

With a sigh and no reply, Joshua pushed himself off the table he was leaning on and stood straight, glancing over his shoulder back at Remi. "If redemption is what you seek and loyalty is what you seek to prove, you'll help me find him by the time I can hit a target again," he said bluntly and sharply. Joshua knew if there was any way to prove Remi wasn't an instrument of Caesar, but a misguided spirit on a quest for uneasy balance, it would be through testing his loyalties and morality.

Joshua had in that moment decided he'd had enough of walking in circles with Remi, tip-toeing the thin line between deciding whether he was ally or enemy. He had faith in the courier, now he desired to test it.


	18. Chapter 17

Hey, all. To start this month off- I'm really sorry for the late update, I've been having a really rough past month or two. I've been stuck between a lot of home-life turmoil and health conditions, but hopefully they'll start clearing up soon and won't continue to affect the pace of Halfmoon's updates. Second- I'm sorry it's not all that long of a chapter. I didn't wanna make this update any longer, and I still wanted you guys to get a good piece of writing for this month. Third- in light of recent changes in my life, the next chapter of Daylight may be coming along later than expected.

That's all for this month. Thanks to everyone still following along &amp; reading! Hope you enjoy the chapter!

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Brows furrowed and sky blue eyes squinted in utter surprise at Joshua's declaration. Only a day ago Joshua hardly wanted to go to Freeside with him, now he expected him to plan and carry out this _quest_ to save someone neither of them knew was even still alive.

"In the state you're in, we ain't goin' anywhere," he responded. Not exactly refusing Joshua's demand of him, but most definitely not accepting it. He was reluctant, obviously and understandably. The trek Joshua was explaining would entail returning to Legionary territory and even back into the beating heart of the bull; The Fort. Joshua returning there a third time would be certain death. A man can only cheat death so many times; something the Courier knew for himself all too well.

"If you'd like to reject the chance I'm giving you to show me your actual intentions, so be it," Joshua said gruffly, "If you decline my offer, though, I'll just leave alone." Remi's eyes had been briefly averted from Graham's up until that statement, at which cornflower blues shot up to fixate onto him, a new spark taking effect around those dull irises. It immediately tensed his muscles and pressed on his chest to have even the mere threat of losing Joshua a second time, after bringing back from such a terrible brush with death. He knew were he to lose him again, he wouldn't be getting him back.

"No," was all he could manage for a moment, so many aggressive statements and arguments rushing through his head in a split second, telling him to stop Joshua from leaving on a journey that would most certainly lead to a third and final brush with death.

Joshua's brows furrowed and he stared down the courier, whose expression grew less tense as he came to realize he had just hopped onto telling Joshua Graham he couldn't do something, and something he cared deeply about nonetheless. "What do you mean _no_?" He growled, watching as Remi tripped over his own words a time or two, stuttering under his breath to find something to say in response. That alone was just the smallest, simplest sign of the courier caring; his attempt at saving Joshua from his suicide mission and then scrambling for a reason why which he thought Graham would listen to. This fact, however, only scraped the surface of Joshua's thoughts as he stayed fixated on the notion that Remi had just told him_ no._

"I mean I'm not letting you go again. With or without me," he finally replied, managing a solid and firm tone, low and dead serious as he could muster. He wanted Joshua to hear that intensity in his voice and know the true honesty in his words. "I am _not _losing you again," he stated, making his best effort to fixate his eyes into the gray-blue set opposite him. Joshua wouldn't break eye contact with Remi this time around, taken captive by the rawness of the expression in the courier's blue eyes.

The former legate subconsciously started to make an effort to match that stone-solid seriousness in Remi's eyes, practically holding a deadlock stare. "You don't control me, Remi," he rumbled in response, "You s-"

"I sure as hell controlled _your life_ the last time you decided to up and leave," The courier snapped, leaning forward, getting right up into Joshua's face. With his stare still dead-set and swelling with robust blue emotion, Graham felt his own stare wavering. It put another wound onto his weak body to be so harshly reminded of Remi's saving him from the jaws of death by the hands of Caesar on some motive so obviously astray from the agenda of The Legion. Perhaps now it was finally coming through that Remi's motive also wasn't tied to his conscience, nor guilt, nor pity.

Joshua let out a speechless, audible exhale as he leaned back, having the break eye contact at this point. He clenched his hands into fists, knuckles tightening and loosening against his palms in a rhythmic pattern, slowly gnawing at the soft flesh of his hands with his fingernails. He drew in another breath through flared nostrils before he tipped his head back up to face Remi, who had suddenly averted his eyes now that Joshua had looked away. What he'd said was out of impulse and unaddressed emotion, perhaps he was in some regret of just how those words slipped off his lips.

Joshua briefly pursed his lips. Replies swirled around within his head, some calm and civil and others heated and blunt. "But it was at your hands that I was there from the beginning; you saved me from something of your creation." It seemed civility was slipping from Joshua's tightening grip, then. With a sudden burst of energy and flame ignited life, Remi stood from his chair, screeching as it was shoved back along rough wooden planks, and took a step forward to match Joshua's stance. Get eye to eye and level with him.

"You say that like I was to know any of what did was going to happen to you," he said. Hesitating a moment, a disgruntled noise huffed out from the back of Remi's throat. He shook his head briefly. "You- you don't still think I had some part in any of what happened, do you?" He asked, trying again to make eye contact, blue eyes searching for those slate orbs, pining away for something that at the time being avoided his sight.

Boots tapping the wooden floor sounded around the room as Joshua took another step up to Remi, turning to face him, allowing those searching cornflower eyes what they longed for. Graham's fists continued their rhythm, catching up in strength and speed until he could feel just the faintest bruises starting to swell on his palms. "Is there anything else I should be led to think?" He growled low, expression not changing in even the slightest as he watched a sudden pulse of pain travel through Remi's expression. Regret, maybe guilt. "You seem to forget as far as I know you were a Legion spy, and whether or not it was your objective, you got me into the Fort. Why you got me out?" He paused, clenching his jaw and grinding his teeth for but a moment as thoughts whirred in his head. "I don't know." He spat "Guilt. Morality. Greed."

"Greed?" Remi snapped back the word as he heard it.

"You may have known the offset in power within the Legion it would cause to have me captured and survive Caesar a second time; let alone disproving Caesar's lies in accordance to erasing me from history. Bringing me back from being no more than a myth in the Mojave would set off an eruption of questions within the Legion," he explained lowly, "That would bare nothing short of a perfect opportunity to overthrow Caesar."

Remi could practically feel his brow start to twitch and teeth start to grind as he heard Joshua explain a possible motive of his as to why he'd saved him. It boiled his blood and ached down into his very core all the same to hear Joshua still pondering the possibility of the courier genuinely not caring for the burned man, and instead having his motives lie with Edward Sallow; or the overthrowing of. Taking a breath, he snarled back in a quickened tone. "And you really think I would care to be a tyrant?" A fire lit up in Remi's eyes and he took a step closer to Joshua.

Graham could feel those rough, hot breaths from the courier against his unbandaged skin, the sensation of burning from his scars just barely registering to him. "I—" He hesitated to reply to that question. Remi could be ambitious, yes, but even he knew saying he desired that much power was a lie. Power over people had never been something the courier sought after, not even in his goal to take New Vegas under his control, where as far as his ambitions went, he wanted liberation.

"No," he snarled lowly, "And I never will. — My saving you was nothin' short of someone finally fucking giving a damn about your life," Remi hissed, tone low and so pungent with emotion he was practically a time bomb reaching its last seconds. "You.. you accuse me of not knowin' you, of being the fake or the liar," a deeper, more raw tone sunk down deep into the courier's voice as anger welled in his chest. Not a hostile anger, no; one product of an emotional pain. "But I think you need to take a look at your damn self."

"I have a right to think you a liar," he retorted quick and thoughtlessly. He drew in a harsh inhale through flared nostrils and exhaled more slowly, easing his nerves before he fired 10mm bullet at Remi in the form of his words. "I've already told you several times it's that you still have yet to prove yourself otherwise," he said, voice still as rough and deep, however quieter and intentionally quieter as to avoid losing his temperament. "Which is why I asked you join me in finding Follows-Chalk, as you should know."

"And you can't take anything I've already done as proof?" Remi was very quick to reply, practically trampling over the end of Graham's statement as he spoke again. The faintest whimper of desperation lie below his deep tone, "Not saving you, not risking me own fucking life to keep you alive, nursing you back to health, not—"

"Stop."

"Why? What god damned reason is there anything I've done you haven't asked won't-"

_"Stop." _He insisted deeper, snapping out of his still and calm stature to walk right into Remi, deliberately shoving him back a couple inches; as far as Remi would allow himself to be pushed. He didn't want to hear another word out of Remi's mouth. He had an ache swelling in the back of his head that knew everything the courier said was very much true, and that he may as damn well be right. He didn't want to face that; something within him wasn't ready and willing to face that the courier really was as selfless as he seemed. Something within him, driven by instinct first build within the ranks of the Legion, as natural as reflex, wanted him to be led to believe Remi was still possibly a traitor; the enemy.

Remi gave a frustrated puff of breath and took a couple uneven steps back, placing him only a couple inches from the wall of the shack, but equally as far away from Graham. He felt his own hands clenching in and out of fists as to channel a growing uneasy energy out somewhere other than in the form of words or thrown punches at Joshua.

"I never asked you to do a damn thing for me," Joshua said sharply, following in Remi's path and keeping them close together, as if he needed that close proximity as to nail in his intimidating presence through stature. Remi was up against the metal shack wall before Graham next spoke, keeping him pinned there like an animal sizing up its prey. "I asked of your help in Zion months ago, and that was the extent of it." Words slipped from his tongue, and he doubted how much even he believed them as they came across his own ears.

"I never asked to have you save me. I never asked you keep me from succumbing to my wounds." Who are you to say I wouldn't have rather died in the Fort?" Remi paused and felt his breath get caught up in his throat. He couldn't believe the things Graham was saying, his mind was in knots trying to understand his thought process, thus far only tying itself up tighter.

"Well?" He then insisted after a momentary pause, fixating his eyes into the slate set before him, "Is that what you really wanted?" Joshua felt his blood run cold all the way down into his fingertips. "To die?" Remi asked bluntly. He drew in a short, audible inhale through his mouth. "And you make so much talk about savin' Chalk and keepin' your damn people safe. Dead men can't protect shit," he spat.

Joshua broke their eye contact, only then taking a step back and backing off from the courier. He couldn't answer that question- more so didn't want to- and so he could no longer find himself able to bare Remi's eyes staring back into his, asking for answers with the look in his blue eyes just as much as with his words.

Now, though— Now it was Remi's turn. He approached Joshua as he backed away; got close enough to where he could see the creases of each and every small muscle in Joshua's face as he made such an effort not to look Remi in the eyes. "Am I wrong?" The courier asked, deliberately quietly and slowly, letting his words seep in like acid rain into the desert soil. Remi only let a few moments pass with Joshua remaining silent and still as a stone before he repeated the question, this time with more force and an added depth to his tone. He watched Joshua close his eyes, draw in a long breath. He was making a vain effort to push the courier out, drown out the sound of his voice and make his image blur.

However, Remi drew himself back from responding to Joshua's silence with hostility another time. He allowed the silence to pass, watching Joshua. He would have to open his slate eyes eventually; he couldn't push the courier away for so long.

"..Look," He began slowly, drawing his eyes open, however not quite looking at Remi yet. "I've been in this place before; with you and I. An ally.. a friend.. getting so close and on the cusp of knowing one another as one knows themselves, and.." He paused, sighed, "Taking a step back as we approached the cliff, letting me fall while they watch," he finished solemnly, yet still neglecting to look at Remi. "I fear the same of you, regardless of what you've done for me. I've lost reliance in what others choose to do on my behalf, however I can trust me own intentions.. Hence, my asking your cooperation in finding Chalk.."

Remi froze a moment; felt his muscles all but lock up under his skin. He was taken aback by how Joshua kept himself so calm and so brutally honest in his response. He was expecting more tip-toeing around the subject, _and _he was expecting hostility. He thought it more likely to have Joshua shove his knuckles into the side of his jaw than to come clean with the reason why he'd been behaving the way that he was. The courier, after having to take a long pause to digest Graham's change in demeanor, drew in a slow breath before he spoke.

"I understand, but.. I can't agree to let you go, and I won't lose you again, and.. I guess if we don't want to stay at this impasse…" He paused, briefly ground his teeth together and tried to keep his gut feeling telling him to never say what he was about to away. Every fiber in his body told him to keep arguing until Joshua agreed to never desire to see the likes of the Legion again, and it took an untapped strength in the courier to get himself to speak again. "I'll go with you. We'll find Chalk, and maybe then you'll see I'm not what Caesar used to be to you."


	19. Chapter 18

_Hello, all! Finally, the new update is here and, no, I'm not dead! - A couple things with this update: **Firstly,** I am so sorry for how late this update is. The last couple months for me have been far from what I was expecting, and March was the worst of it. I've been dealing with a lot of homelife and medical concerns in these past weeks, but lately I've been making time. Hense the chapter finally going up. **Secondly,** despite all that's been going on in my life and the slowness of the updates, **I will be seeing Halfmoon through to its end.** Thank you to everyone who's been reading thus far. _

_**Finally,** I thought I'd make an announcement that Halfmoon had been in progress for one full year as of March 31st. I'm happy to've stayed on this story._

_Happy reading! We have some huge, huge chapters in the near future!_

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There was a sudden spark- a flicker of a cold flame- in Joshua's eyes. Although the honesty laid out in the courier's unsteady words of agreement were as brutal as they were blunt, he was surprised; appreciative; of Remi's cooperation. Some part of him didn't expect it, still. Some depth of his mind was certain the stubbornness in Remi would overcome him and dictate his answer. He was proven wrong, seeing that Remi's stubborn demeanor was ultimately trumped by his devotion to not letting the life of another he cared about slip through his fingers. Not again, at least. Behind that also lay Remi's inert sense of protectiveness, his sense of being a guardian to those who he seeks, or had sought at any point, to save. Joshua, although more a protector to him than anything else, was still someone that the courier- whether subconscious or not- opted to guard.

Graham cleared his throat. He had to take a moment of silence to even process Remi just.. accepting his terms, even if albeit after some argument. "I-… _Thank you_. On my behalf and that of Follows-Chalk's, God willing he's still alive," he said. Joshua, moving with a subtle stiffness to his every muscle and joint of his bones, body out of sync with his mind while his thoughts still raveled around what was to come now that the courier had agreed with him, made his way over to Raul's desk. One of his .45 pistols, unloaded and calling out to have its steel chambers filled with the foreshadowing of six deaths, sat on the ghoul's workbench. He picked it up in one hand, reaching around with the other for ammunition. Remi watched from where he stood behind the burned legate as little metallic sounds resonated from his hands as he loaded the gun. "Now.. now all that's left is to decide where we start from here." He said as he finished loading his pistol with an audible _click_, and slipped it into a holster on his hip.

Remi took a step closer to Joshua, glancing over his shoulder to see him tapping his fingers in some unfamiliar rhythm on the desk. No doubt his subconscious ached to load and cock another gun. And another after that. And another. And another. Such as the reputations he used to perform on a daily basis. "And I can only assume you've got an idea where that would be," the courier said. "If anybody knew where to start lookin' for where Caesar hides his prisoners of war, it'd be you."

"Mh. Not exactly that simple," Joshua replied quickly, glancing briefly over his shoulder at Remi. "The most obvious answer would be The Fort. It's where Edward will always be, and it's the head of his serpent. He would keep targets of high value- or targets to draw in those of even higher value, like myself- closest to himself and his biggest organization of troops, not to mention his monster of a Legate." He began, "You.. You may have dealt with something like this already, in fact.." Joshua murmured, the thrumming of his fingertips growing louder as he went into thought. "Stories passed by a while back, about you- or, rather, about a _courier_\- who finally settled a grudge with a man in a checkered suit at the Fort, where Caesar held him like an animal in a trap for you. Vegas tried to pass it off like the fellow just skipped town, but your rumors still spread. Hiding blood on your hands is something both you and Edward never very well learned to do."

Remi drew in an inward sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. It irked him to hear Joshua compare him to Caesar, even if there was no real correlation between them and, in Benny's case, Remi had never even made an effort to cover his tracks to begin with. He never cared who in the Mojave knew he'd killed the sharp-tongued bastard. "Your point?" He prompted.

Joshua, ceasing the tapping of his fingertips, stood from his seat and spun on his heel to face Remi, then leaning his lower back against Raul's desk. "I want to know how it all happened. How Edward set it up, how it all played out. Edward is a creature of habit, while this situation may be much different than with you and your checkered friend, I don't doubt there will be some.. similarities I can take account of. The better gauge I can get on this, the better I can find where we start. The better I can guess where we'll end."

A quiet, hoarse hum thrummed in the back of Remi's throat. He furrowed his brows, glancing briefly at Joshua's slate-blue eyes. "I'd think with as much time as you spent in the Legion, you'd already know his patterns." He argued.

The burned man offered a brief nod in return. "While Edward is prone to repeat himself, as I've already said, he still isn't a fool. He would know to change his ways after the first battle of Hoover Dam, and after he discovered of his failure to kill me the first time. And every time after, too," he said, "While there's a chance his stubbornness may have surpassed his intellect and his patterns _haven't _changed, I would rather know just how much I should bet before I set anything on the table. Understand?" He said gruffly, briefly tilting his head when he uttered his single-word question.

Remi puffed a sigh through his nostrils and nodded. He sucked in a deliberately drawn-out inhale before he began to speak. "He'd sent one of his frumentarii agents to find me on the Strip, gave me some mark of his that "_forgave"_ me for everything I may've done against the Legion up to that point. More or less set out a damn red carpet to get me in there," he explained, "But, see, he had a well and good reason to wanna draw me in. That checkered guy, Benny, he had an uh.. an item- the courier package he'd stolen from me- that Caesar needed. Catch was he needed _me_ to use the thing for him." As Joshua listened, his eyes had averted, as plots and scenarios played out in his head and he began to contemplate just how different Remi's circumstance was from the one they would be walking into.

"I guess, lookin' back on it, Benny was much less bait for me and just an added bonus. I didn't come for Benny, didn't even know he'd be there. His presence, and Caesar's neglectin' to axe him off right when he got the package was cause he knew letting _me_ kill him would put some extra chips into persuading me to do the Legion's work for 'em." Remi concluded. He lifted his blue eyes to Joshua, who was still silent and in a stone-figure stature with his eyes to the ground and his pointer finger and thumb pressed to his chin.

"We obviously won't have Edward's cooperation on our side like you did…" Graham sighed. "But he certainly has laid out a red carpet, as you'd say. With all this.. preparation, time, and effort he's put into my death, my final humiliation, he's done nothing but try to herd me into his trap." Joshua paused and shook his head, muttered something about how foolish it was to be trying to lead a hunter into a prey's trap, then continued, "I don't doubt, that in mind, he's holding Chalk somewhere. Alive. Not in the same way he did with Benny, however.." Joshua swallowed back, Remi took vague notice of a change in his expression; an added reluctancy to keep speaking. "I.. don't foresee him keeping Chalk unharmed like he did Benny for you," he said, "With Benny, I'm sure we would've wanted to allow you the privilege of enforcing all of his misfortune- another bribe toward you- but, Chalk, he.." Joshua began to struggle to continue. The truth was a nail dragging against the back of his throat. "He would want to put Chalk in a position that he knows, when I see it, I'll be aiming a .45 caliber at his forehead."

This was something his subconscious had desperately been trying to keep him from thinking about; the inevitable reality that Follows-Chalk would be tortured and broken by Caesar as to ignite the fury within Graham when he would finally be drawn into the Fort, which was another fated happenstance. Caesar undoubtably remembered Joshua's nature of responsibility, gathering that Graham was a figure of leadership- perhaps even something closer to that of a father- to Chalk. Breaking the young tribesman would most certainly catch Joshua's attention, not to mention his wrath.

Remi shifted with discomfort. He couldn't argue that point, he knew Joshua was right. There was no sense in denying what he said in an efforts to appease his nerves, telling him Chalk would be safe and exempt from harm. Graham knew the truth, and he most certainly wasn't one to delude himself from it nor let others do so for him. Remi cleared his throat, speaking quietly at first, "Then that's where we start," he said, "Figurin' out how to get to him without them doin' anything worse to him than they already have."

He furrowed his brows as he watched Joshua scoff under his breath, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "So long as you're aware that heeds repercussions as well," he said.

Remi tilted his head. "What d'you mean?"

"I know for certain Edward won't allow that to happen, no matter my efforts or yours," he said, "He'll have one of us killed at any cost. If it isn't Chalk, it's me or you. We have ourselves and he has an army. Hell. He'll kill all three of us if he can. We've become stains in the history he's created around himself; blemishes he intends to erase," Joshua said, the grip of his hands to his crossed arms tightening, muscles tensing. "Well.. Chalk, more or less.. is just a means to reach me, he's just expendable, but.. You and I, we're a different story. I'm everything he hates and you're a threat to his empire." He took a short pause. "Well. And, by now, you've gotten yourself tied to me," he pointed out. He was right. Remi's reputation with the Legion was soiled, tainted by the ashes of a burned legate.

Joshua's shoulders were high and chest was broadened by filled lungs. He exhaled deeply, releasing the pressure built up in his upper body in a slow, low breath. "You understand what I'm saying, don't you?" He asked suddenly, tone taking an abrupt change to be uncharacteristically soft and tender, however not entirely without that subtle hoarseness native to Joshua's tongue. As he awaited an answer he was greeted with only silence as Remi had froze, a numbness crawling through his limbs and face, a sudden consciousness alerted to his heartbeat, and his heartbeat alone. Reluctancy bit at his tongue, the answer rest in his throat however he couldn't manage to hear it escape his lips. He understood just fine.

Graham would save him the breath. "You know I won't let you die," he began, "Nor will I chalk. Not for me," he said, swallowing back the distaste toward the words he was saying and was about to say, "While we both know I will _not_ allow Edward to defeat me.. This… This will be the end of my road, Remi," The courier opposite him tensed further, "But so will it be for him. I'll make damn sure of that." He reassured. "If I'm to burn one last time, Edward's corpse will kindle the flame."

Joshua, after he'd finished, began to wait, rather than prompting Remi to say something in response. An air of compassion and patience was cast over him, empathetic of the man whose expression he watched deteriorate as he was told the Legate he would die to save was preparing for the end of his days. Graham knew the courier wouldn't want to accept this was not only a rightful end, but a likely one. Quite possibly a destined one.

By the time Remi had sucked in a breath and looked up to meet those blue-hinted steel eyes, red and white stain-glass filled the space around his cornflower irises. Joshua watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed back the tightness in his throat, preparing to say something. What came out of Remi's mouth, quieter than what was natural for him and vastly more strained, took Joshua by surprise, to say the least. "..Do you just never fucking listen to me?" He asked.

"What do you-"

"You damn well know what I mean," he snapped in a louder tone, voice cracking audibly. "I told you I wouldn't lose you again."

"Remi, please-"

"And I meant it." He continued, stepping over Joshua's statement and pushing emphasis on those last four words passed through his gritted teeth. His jaw clenched tight as he spoke, making such an effort to avoid letting his fragility shine through his tone. This was inevitably done in vain, however, as Graham still possessed the ability to see through the courier's barriers. "You're not dying. No. No way in hell. We'll find another way, we'll get Chalk without it killing you, we'll.."

"We'll allow time to run its course and God to put myself and Edward in our place," he finished as Remi found himself running out of breath just as well as he was running out of words. He could tell the courier was desperate, unwilling to face to grim reality Joshua seemed so certain of.

Remi scoffed, hands clenching into fists and shaking his head. He was forced to swallow harshly again as another lump welled in his throat. "Bull-fucking-shit. Don't you try to turn this into some act of God, Joshua," he growled, abrasiveness bubbling to the surface, acting as a mask; a self-defense mechanism to disguise the pain beading on his eyelashes in the form of warm liquid. "You're not going to fucking die, and neither are me or Chalk. You can't just—" He exhaled harshly through his nostrils as to release frustration as it built up, "You can't just _know_ what's going to happen, okay? You've said it before that Caesar isn't as strong as you. Isn't as smart as you. — He's already failed to kill you twice now, what makes you think he won't fail again?"

Joshua titled his head downward and sighed quietly, after which drawing in a long, smooth inhale as to keep himself calm through Remi's emotional surge. "…Look," he began, eyes shifting back upward to meet the uneasy, dilated pupils of the courier. "I understand that you don't want to believe me, but my surviving thus far has all been nothing but fate. It's all been by chance; God's will. I had always known he was keeping me alive for something- making me live through all those years of repentance-… This must be it." Remi struggled and darted his eyes away for a split second as to rub the side of his hand to his cheek, wiping the single shameful tear that trekked his skin. "The sooner we both come to terms and the sooner you understand, the better for both of us."

In that single moment of Joshua finishing his sentence and Remi lifting his head back up, Joshua was jolted and stumbling backward as the courier suddenly crashed an angry fist into the wooden walls of the shack, making the shack shudder and creak, hissing, "There is _nothing_ for me to understand!" Following, he wretched his fist back from the wall, flexing his bruised fingers out before tightening them back into a fist, so tight the veins tracing his muscular forearm became fleshed out, as if they had been carved into his skin.

Remi closed his eyes and drew in a shaky sigh, coming down from his short burst of hysterically exuded emotion. "You.. You're the one who has to understand," he muttered, eyes on his knuckles, which began to seep blood through the scrapes and splinters along them. "You need to get it through your head that God isn't going to hold the fucking reigns on the end of your life." Irritability sharpened his tongue into a dagger as he spoke. "We can keep you alive- _I_ will, if not us-. It ain't a damned matter of what fate has in store for you, Joshua. Sayin' that is practically giving up and _letting_ Caesar kill you. Don't you see that?"

"I see that realizing Edward will be my undoing just as much as I will be his will save us trouble down the road."

"Like watchin' you die could_ ever_ get any harder," Remi murmured in a hushed, hurried tone.

"Look, Remi.."

With a surprising swiftness, the courier snapped out of his position and, in the blink of an eye, had clattered his way right into Joshua's face, stopping inches from him- so close he could feel his heated breath- with red-stained eyes boring into Graham's gray-blues. "Don't you "_look, Remi,"_ me," he snarled, "I damn well understand what you're trying to say. I just know you're fucking wrong," he spat. He only watched in further irritation as Joshua just looked away and gave his head one slow shake.

"You just can't bring yourself to understand.."

"I ain't the one who doesn't understand," Remi retaliated the second those words sounded from Joshua's lips. Remi then drew in one more shaky breath, this time all too obviously in an attend to suppress the oh-so uncharacteristic tears threatening to fall from the eyes of a man known for having dry eyes and a dormant heart.

Once the courier had backed away, shaky in both his breathing and his movement, he waded around the single room before finally drifting to the door. Joshua watch in dead silence as Remi placed a hand on the handle, slowly coiled fingers around its metal frame, and paused. He took a long, quiet time before he finally turned and pulled the old metal handle, allowing in the light and sounds of the desert outside.

"I'm leaving to get ammo, better weapons…" He spoke without turning his head to face Joshua. "We'll leave in the morning." His tone was practically something unrecognizable; certainly not something usually attributed to Remi. It was slow, low, and unbelievably frail. Joshua had never heard a tone quite like that from his generally loud companion before, not even during their heated conversation preceding that sentence.

And just like that, the metal door had closed with a metallic _bang_ and Remi was gone, leaving Graham alone, still where he stood. Joshua couldn't say he had entirely expected the courier to up and leave once his emotions reached their exhaustion point, but nor could he say he was very much surprised. They both were left with heavy weights in their heads to think about, and while Joshua could filter it and control his reactions to it, Remi couldn't. He was already a powder keg as it was, adding anything more would only come in the form of embers to a wick. Joshua had just seen a fraction of him ignite, he was lucky some part of Remi, no matter how deep inside his head, realized he was close to becoming a fire and stomped out the flickers.

Joshua, moving slowly at first as he still slowly came to grasp and recollect all of what had just occurred, made his way to his bed across the room. He took a seat on the old mattress, leaning his back against the wall, angling his chin up so as to stare at the ceiling above him.

Now, he awaited the coming of the next morning when the Mojave sun crested over the mountains. He awaited the return of the courier, off to New Vegas, most likely, for what weapons he needed. Likely one of those he considered to be sentimental and_ lucky._ Most prominently, he awaited the journey ahead of them, and the fate he still so stubbornly thought lie in wait for him at Fortification Hill, entailing the final clash of the Tyrant and the Burned Man.


	20. Chapter 19

_HELLO EVERYONE FIRST OF ALL I CAN'T EXPRESS TO YOU HOW HAPPY I AM ABOUT THE ANNOUNCEMENT OF FALLOUT 4 OH MY GOD. I'm so glad to see this fandom finally coming back to life. It's been a long, long time. We deserve some attention, right? _

_Anyway, I hope everyone's doing great! Especially now that we know the new game is not only official but due for Dec. 31st, from what I've heard! First, I'm so, so sorry for how late this chapter is. I promise I love each and every reader I have, you're all amazing. Seriously. I wouldn't have spent over a year on this story if not for you guys. Second, this chapter is a bit short, but I tied up some loose ends and added some emotional goodness to get ready for the final act of this story._

_I expect somewhere around five or so more chapters, and then.. Halfmoon will reach its conclusion. I might cry when I finish this whole thing, honestly. _

_Happy reading!_

* * *

Unable to sleep with the daunting thoughts of Caesar and the atrocities he may be committing against innocent Follows-Chalk, Joshua found himself restless, eventually moving out to the porch of Raul's shack while the ghoul slept inside. He sat himself down in an old wooden chair facing the horizon, where he would watch and await the small silhouette of the approaching courier.

Before Joshua had moved himself outside, he'd sure done his fill of work inside. Whatever he _could_ do, practically. Whether that be to find all the medical supplies and spare food he could and pack it all into a traveling satchel, reload every gun he carried, sharpen every knife, re-cork every bottle of tequila Remi left lying around.. Anything he could spend his time methodically doing, he did it. Most of which was paranoia-inspired work he did to prepare for the road ahead of him and the courier, however some of it was just needless other than being an excuse for his hands to be at work.

That following morning, just as the courier had said, he arrived with the rising of the sun with the silhouette of a slender pistol gripped in his right hand, glinting with silver as the sun hit its metal frame. Another holster was strung up against his left thigh, gripping the fabric of his jeans as its black leather straps hugged tight. Inside the holster was another pistol, accompanied by a week's worth of ammunition. Half .45 caliber, half .10 millimeter.

Joshua doubted these two simple weapons were all he brought, no matter the significance of the weapons themselves; that being that one was the .45 he gifted Remi after his first venture to Zion, named A Light Shining in The Darkness, and the pistol Remi took from Benny after silencing him once and for all at The Fort, named Maria. Joshua would find he was correct in his curiosities, since as Remi drew closer over the flat, spanning tan hide of the desert, he began to note an odd new addition to his outline as he drew nearer. Against the blackened silhouette, the shape of an immense hammer jutted from Remi's shoulder, obviously therefore being strewn horizontally across his back.

This hammer he held, broad and rugged even as a mere shadow, was akin to the ones Super Mutants carried with them as a means of crushing the skulls of unlucky travelers. Just for kicks, too, more often than not. This one, though; it was special to Remi. A particular one just slightly unlike the common ones seen wielded atop places like Black Mountain, but still just enough so that it could be recognized as _his._ This one was broader, longer, and was coated in the deep orange color of rust, accented with the darker crimson color of dried blood.

As the story would go, Remi had found it in a cave swarmed with Nightstalkers, left by the body of a Nightkin the hissing beasts had unleashed their maws upon and condemned to a painful end. He said the weapon had a name, such as most of the items he collected in his travels. A comical one, in Joshua's opinion, not that that would effect Remi in the slightest. - _Oh Baby! _was its nameand, if asked why, Remi would tell a short tale about how that's what its wielder should be shouting when they feel the weighty power of the sledge in their hands.

By the time hardly another half an hour had come and gone, the courier was setting his boots onto the creaky wooden porch of Raul's home. His eyes turned to meet Joshua's, who was rising from where he sat and slowly rolling his shoulders backward as to stretch them. As he stood, he also threw a leather satchel over his shoulder, likely filled with food, water, and medical supplies. Maybe cigarettes.

As his slate, silver eyes met Remi's he noted the dark discoloration within them, paired with ash-colored trenches dug out beneath his eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept for days despite having only missed that previous night he was away.

Granted, this what was just to Graham's knowledge. In reality, it was most likely Remi hadn't gotten a restful sleep in weeks. He closed his eyes for a few hours from time to time, when Joshua was in a dead-silent sleep and the ghoul was snoring aloud, though most of the time he was restless. His body had since adjusted to the idea of staying awake every hour of the day in order to keep a constant watch on Joshua, save for those times his exhausted mind and muscles buckled under him like weak knees. This unhealthy habit, of course, was first implemented when Joshua was still more or less in a coma state, though it seemed even after he awoke from that, it just stuck. Having spent a full cycle of 24 hours without a minute of sleep night after night took a toll on the courier.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Graham looked Remi over, addressing the different weapons he was carrying with him. The hammer was what he spotted first, typically, and next was the double gun-holsters strapped to his hips, holding his two pistols on either of his sides. Joshua furrowed his brows and looked back to meet Remi's eyes.

"Only those?" He asked.

The courier cocked his head to the said and huffed, seemingly offended and surprised by Graham. "Hell do you mean _only those?_ These are more than enough," he retorted, setting his hands at this hips and keeping his hands intentionally placed close to his guns.

Joshua quirked a small and momentary smile. Too small for Remi to've spotted, but still there for what short time it was regardless. At first, Joshua didn't respond at all, beginning to walk past Remi. He spoke again after a firm pat to the courier's shoulder, "no, I know. I've learned to always expect more than enough out of you," he replied, pausing for a brief moment of eye contact before he turned and stepped down off the old ghoul's porch. Remi felt a smile overcome his cheeks, taken by surprise by Joshua's… _Humor? _No. Joshua didn't make jokes. That was wits, or something like that. Old war-torn mormon wasn't a comedy type.

The courier shook his head to himself and followed after Joshua, who was already poised to walk the path set before him. Remi settled in beside him, walking at a reasonably slow pace. "No goodbyes for Raul?" He asked immediately, given they were still close enough to the shack to turn back. The old ghoul was his friend, and he'd like to thank him for all that he'd given to the pair over these past months.

Joshua shook his head. "He's still sleeping, I thought it better we leave quietly instead of making a fuss," he said. Remi knew Joshua was never one for goodbyes and a man of modesty, but someone as relaxed and wise as Raul wouldn't have reacted much to their departure regardless, other than wishing them luck on their journey. He couldn't help but be a little sad they were leaving unannounced, a part of him wanted to tell Graham they should turn back and— "Don't worry, though. I left him a.. gift, of sorts. To show gratitude for his help."

Remi furrowed his brows. Joshua took the time to do something like that? Well.. In this context, it was understandable, the ghoul offered them his home for weeks, but.. still.. Graham wasn't one for small acts of needless kindness. Usually. Perhaps something about this whole ordeal, let alone the one ahead, put some new perspective on how he saw the world and the people around him. Maybe it was simply that nearly dying twice made him a little more considerate of those in his life.

That was two unusual acts of thoughtfulness within the span of not even ten minutes; usually occasions like these were spaced out between weeks. Or, well, back before any of this, back in Zion, they were. Something was noticeably changed in Joshua's behavior. It was subtle, as Graham was still a stone statue of a man, but it was there regardless. Remi couldn't quite get his head around it- in fact in more or less confused him. Joshua was as hard to read as a letter from a feral ghoul. ..Granted, Remi didn't put _too_ much thought into it yet to begin with. The likelihood of why this behavior was surfacing in Joshua might be that he was soon enough going to potentially be facing off with death for the third time. Maybe the last time. Joshua could very well be counting his blessing and trying to appreciate them.

Back at Raul's home, the old mechanic would awake to a month's worth of 10mm rounds and several bottles of tequila. The ghoul couldn't ask for a better gift.

As time passed, an hour into their trip, the sun crested over the mountains just ahead of them. Light bathed the two men, soaking them in the colors of the Mojave. Any and all shadows previously draped over them had been chased away, and the sun loomed above them like a watchful guardian. Joshua took a brief glance into the cloudless sky and sighed. He'd of course been dwelling in his thoughts for that first hour of their journey. He was about to let some fraction of those thoughts surface.

"The journey ahead won't be long," he said, "but I suspect it will be our last, one way another." The courier didn't yet say a word. Granted, that took biting his tongue, _hard,_ but he kept his mouth shut. Joshua took a pause before bringing his eyes back down from the clear blue sky and looked to the courier walking next to him. "Are you ready for that?" He asked.

Remi hesitated. He drew in a long inhale, shaky and unsure. The courier's blue eyes didn't meet Joshua's, staying fixed on the beaten path in front of them, though even from that concealed angle Graham could practically feel the emotion radiating off of Remi. "Look, no matter what happens, even if this is the last time we walk another road side by side, I promise I'm not gonna let you die." he said. "And that's as close to ready as I'm gonna get."

Joshua didn't speak another word. He had his own opinions on that matter, but he'd keep them to himself, out of consideration, and try to relish in the thought that Remi was prepared to so fearsomely _protect him. _The selfish, greedy, sinful, aggressive, inconsiderate, apathetic Courier was admittedly ready to lay out his life to defend not just something he cared about, but_ someone_. That fact, that idea of an act that hadn't even happened yet, was a contributor to his change in perspective. This sudden change in his behavior.

The courier had a change of heart, and it was because of him. _For_ him. That took its own toll on Graham's own heart. It… put the thought in his head, the idea, that should the situation arise, Joshua would gladly do the same for Remi. The extent to which he valued his companion carried the same weight as his own life.

This was a form of care for another person so strong and so powerful that Joshua hadn't dealt with before. He wasn't self-centered in the past, necessarily, but he was never this concerned over another person's life, and the continuation of. He always believed that a person's fate was their own and that when their time came, well, that was that. Life was life, and life moves on. But here, now, he cared too much. The feeling was insatiable; he couldn't make it stop or go away if he tried. The thought of letting Remi die was like setting a stone on his heart.

Remi was an important person; a special kind of important. One sort of person who Joshua believed deserved to walk this wasteland for many years to come and meet hundreds more people other than himself. He'd be the only person Joshua would try to defeat the hands of fate over if he had to.

While not in the same context, as the two come from such different backgrounds, but Remi reciprocated that feeling. Not only that itself, but the feeling of this being new to him; this concept of caring so much and being unable to control that sense of care.


End file.
